A/N: Not sure If this will be a relapse sequel, or if it will take on a whole new life of it's own. But here you are anyway.
You keep having the same dream. Every single night for over a week now, you dream that they take you away. Every single night you wake up in a cold sweat, you're not ready to leave.
You remind yourself that you've been adopted now, that they can't take you now.
But nothing has ever been stable before, nothing has been set in stone. It's often hard to trust anything when you've spent the bigger part of your life in a system that teaches you that you're nothing but a number. A statistic. A poor unfortunate little foster kid.
No. Not anymore.
You make your way down to the kitchen a little later today, everyone else is up and ready, and you note that you're extra tired and extra anxious today and that you should probably tell Stef or Lena that it's not a good day.
You normally decide on a breakfast before you go downstairs and so oatmeal is the only thing on your mind right now. Oatmeal with almond milk and a touch of peanut butter and a glass of water. You reach for the box of oatmeal on the top shelf and let out a frustrated sigh when you notice that it's completely empty.
"Do we have any more oatmeal?"
Stef shrugs and lena shakes her head. "I ate the last of it this morning, hun. Sorry."
You throw the box in the bin and work on trying to find a replacement.
The problem with recovery is that, on the bad days, it's almost impossible to see why you bother. The only thing you want is oatmeal, but since there's none left you'll need to find something similar but, sadly, something that isn't what you planned. Structure is important, it's the one thing that keeps you going.
You slam the cupboard door shut and groan.
"I'm going for a shower."
You wonder if they call after you as you run up to the bathroom and close the door hard behind you. You're not supposed to skip meals, but days like this are just
they're hard.
You calm down once the hot water hits your body.
After you're dried and dressed and ready for the day, you make your way downstairs hoping that things will get better and they do, sort of, when you notice a new box of oatmeal sitting on the kitchen table.
You love these people.
Everyone is in the living room, or out the back, and this new level of trust is something you can't get used to. Being allowed to eat alone, being allowed to be left alone, is a new experience.
You try not to fuck it all up.
You only eat half the oatmeal that you normally do, but only because your stomach feels on edge and you think that it's okay because you still ate and you're still here and it's okay.
You join them in the living room and watch TV snuggled up to Stef.
You fall asleep.
.
You are sitting at the top of the stairs when you hear their muffled voices floating up from the living room.
"Stef, honey, we can't keep doing this."
"I know, love. I know. But we can't just..."
"It's too much, this is too much. Watching her all the time like she's a baby is too much."
"But..."
"This is our chance, baby. If Robert has found a way to get her back, then let's not fight him. If she thinks it's his fault then she'll still love us, then we'll still see her. But we won't have to deal with..."
"But she's our daughter, Lena."
"No she's not, Stef. You know that just as much as I do. She hasn't been our daughter since the day she walked out of this house."
"So we're throwing her out?"
"It's our only choice."
.
When you open your eyes, your breath catches in your throat. A tear drips down your cheek and lands on your lip.
"Are you okay?"
You blink away the thought of the dream and sit up, Stef looks concerned.
"Yeah," You lie. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Because you were shaking like a leaf, love. What's wrong?"
You shake your head and smile. "Nothing, honest."
If Stef doesn't believe you, she doesn't say anything. For that, you are grateful. Your stomach feels more unsettled than it did this morning and the thought of lunch, which is looming around the corner, makes you feel worse. You sigh and lean back into Stef, staring at the TV and not really watching it.
You love this family, you think as your eyes begin to close again, you really do.
"Cal."
You groan and turn your head away from the voice. "Hey, love. Wake up. It's almost four o'clock."
You open up your eyes a slither and notice you have a blanket over you, that you and Stef are the only ones in the living room now.
"You feeling okay, my love?"
You nod, only half awake, and wipe your eyes with the back of your hands. "Yeah. How long have I been asleep?"
Stef looks at the clock. "About two hours, you seem wiped," She says, reaching up and touching your forehead with the back of her hand. "maybe you're getting sick."
"No," You say. "I'm fine. Just exhausted. What's for lunch."
There are two sides to you, to anorexia. Two sides that relentlessly disagree with each other, that relentlessly disagree with you. They say that recovery is only effective if you want it to be effective, like it's black and white. Like you can either choose to be or not to be anorexic. Like it's a choice at all. Like you would have ever chosen this path for yourself, like you looked in the mirror when you were a kid and thought one day, I'm gonna hate myself.
It's not easy, recovery. Because you want it. You want it so so bad, and it's there right in front of you all the time, but it's not a tangible item that you can grab and keep, it slips through your fingers like water. In order to keep ahead of the game, you have to always make a conscious effort to understand how important your health is, how important your body is, your mind is, you are.
But they never tell you that the voice that anorexia creates never actually leaves.
You have to want it, but it doesn't always work.
And, so, when Stef get's frustrated on your bad days, when you pick at your dinner and complain you're not hungry and she complains that you need to try harder, you feel bad. Because of course you want it, you need it just as much as you need them, but you always have to remind yourself, and the family too, that it's an uphill battle. It doesn't stop, it doesn't level up, it doesn't get much easier. So, on the days like today, you repeat a mantra in your head.
You want this. You want them. Feet on the ground, mind on the good. Recovery is possible. You are okay.
And sometimes it helps.
And when it doesnt
they do.
