And I recoil with fear, and resume on, on along the same flat, featureless, bleak desert path. One which just leads on and on across this endless dry landscape, flanked always by those soaring mountains. Each one of which I see, and smile at wistfully, before shaking my head and moving on.
I did not expect to be offered this job, by any degree. I just saw it, fantasised about it, and sent off the application without even giving it a second thought.
Because I know that I'm not recovered.
Because I know there's a good chance I could go backwards again. Barcelona was proof of that.
And now I feel as if I have become lost in the desert, lost, to the point at which I haven't the faintest clue of where I'm going or how I'll get there. I want this job. But, I do not want it now. Now I want to be able to commit myself, wholly and completely, to recovery. Yet even as I write those words I know that that, too, is not completely the truth. I'm scared to commit to true recovery. Scared of what others will think, scared of what my body will be like, scared of no longer being with ED.
Strange how those two things that I want more than anything else to commit myself too, are simultaneously, what I'm so intensely afraid of.
And I know I only have a limited time to decide.
Decide whether to commit to that job or not.
Decide whether or not to commit to true recovery.