Bonding Through Bitching

Excuse the language, but sometimes curse words are the best way to say it. The irony lies in the fact that there are a lot better things to talk about than bitching. So far, I feel like all I've heard in PHP is bitching. In treatment, the impact one person's attitude or demeanor can have on those around them becomes magnified ten-fold. If one person walks into a room with a smile on their face the whole room brightens. We often do "mindfulness" (centering breathing exercises) before group meetings, instantly relaxing even the most anxious patients. Then, there is the impact of bitching, wherein one complaint lights the room like a wildfire in the wind, until the everyone has been charred. PHP has been a major reality check. The rules so carefully observed in IP/Res have flown the coop, and I finally understand why they were so important. Complaining and and negativity are the norm, as is food and exercise talk, giving in to behaviors, and arguing with one another. During snack time at IP/Res all the patients crammed together at one table; in PHP, the patients spread out into small groups or cliques. PHP-ers often complain about the food, bringing down the mood of the table and inciting other complaints. When I had spent the last two weeks being the perpetrator of triggers much less detrimental, I felt like a dart board, poked and prodded by triggering actions at every moment. Ouch. Reviewing my time in treatment, the chronology goes a little something like this: for the first few days, I was in the honeymoon phase, practically drowning in motivation; over the next couple days I doubted my need and place in treatment; then, on day seven, I stood at my window with my hands on my hips and thought, "This is it. I accept this. I want this, I need this, I love this." A few hours later I was told that insurance was pushing me to PHP. I learned how to overcome my nerves about PHP during my vow of silence and was blessed with an additional weekend in IP/Res. Then, I entered PHP yesterday and felt like the halo had been stripped from my Angel-of-Recovery. What do I want instead of PHP? When I entered treatment, I wanted to be taken care of. In my quest to be Productive and Efficient and Responsible I ran myself to the ground. I wanted to curl up in the arms of people I trusted. And on Day 7, I realized that for the first time in a long time I felt safe again. I just want to stay in that safe, warm place for a little while longer. Let's talk about the Real World. In the Real World, people talk about exercise. In the Real World, people complain about food. In the Real World, people need to take their lives into their own hands. After venting to my therapist, she laid down the facts: of the people who seek treatment (by the way, 1/3 women have or are currently suffering from ED on college campuses right now) 30% never recover, bouncing in and out of treatment centers and behaviors. The next 30% become functional, showing some behaviors, obsessing, and suffering in secret. The final 30% recover. Period. The percentile that I fall into is my choice. I can choose which crossroads will lead me there, which trees to plant in my forest, and the actions that best support my values. I can choose not to bitch and not to behave. My prospects are good: I got into treatment early on in my ED, have a massive support network, and plenty of hope for the future. I don't ever want to be in treatment again- it's a gift that keeps giving, not a re-gift. I don't want my life to limited by my obsessions. And I do not want to bond through bitching. I choose the top 30%.