I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference." (Robert Frost - 1915)
Two roads stand before me. One leads toward life and health. It is rocky and requires much courage from me to step forward onto this path. The path is strewn with fear and anxiety. A river of uncertainty flows nearby and there will be times I will plunge into that river. However, I can swim and I will not drown, as long as I remain faithful.
This is the road to recovery and I am frightened as I think of stepping forward onto this path. It means I must eat regularly and give up the idea that I am in control. I must trust those who want to help me, and believe what they say without questioning and trying to do it my own way.
The other road is dark. The woods surrounding this road is filled with voices that try and convince me that eating is bad, it is evil and redemption can be found in becoming empty. I have walked down this road for months now, the snarls of anorexia reaching out to intertwine its tentacles around my soul. Thoughts have swirled about me as I have traveled this path. Thoughts of failure and disappointment. Thoughts of starving myself and letting go of all life.
This path is the road to death. There have been times when it has felt so dark, I couldn't see my way out. Times when I thought I should just keep walking along this path, as if I have no other choice. I felt as if I had lost my way forever, and like Hansel and Gretel, there was no way to lead me home. I know the further I walk down this path, the closer I come to losing myself.
Then the other day I asked a friend how she found the way out. She has been recovered from anorexia and bulimia for at least fifteen years, and her strength and courage has always been an inspiration to me. She said she had to let go of all illusions that she had control and that her first step was to get down on her knees and pray to God.
I was in the shower this morning when I started crying, wondering when I lost faith in both myself and God. I go through the motions, attending church and taking part in the Eucharist each Sunday. I often think about God, and I do pray to Him.
But do I really pray to Him? Do I really trust Him enough to let go and fall back into His arms, trusting Him to catch me and not allow me to fall?
The water ran over me as I knelt down this morning and begged Him to help me find faith in myself again. Begged Him to see I was stripped down to nothing, baring my soul before Him and finally realizing that I could do nothing by myself.
Begged Him to set me free.
Now I am at the precipice. I don't want to fall off, tumbling down and becoming fully entangled in anorexia ... I don't know if I have the strength to climb my way back up to the right path.
I am calmer now. I believe God will catch me before I hit bottom. Perhaps He has caught me many times and I just didn't feel His hand reaching out.
There are two roads. I will choose the path of light. I just have to follow and then ... let go.