Cohabitation

A friend recently told me that I was an "enterprising individual" because of the many silly little ways I've endeavored to stretch my own buck or solicit the bucks of others. In reflecting on this statement I've decided that my next "enterprise" is getting NPR to pay me for representing their stories every single day of my life. I'm the most "NOW" thing I know, damnit; take a look at the recent headlines:

"55% of people 18-29 are unemployed"- I'm making money for the things I don't love and paying to do the things I do. I'm not really unemployed or underemployed. I'm backwards employed. It's all the same.

"Middle Eastern leaders are disappearing"- my Moroccan best friend is lost to me somewhere in Argentina with her new husband. I need a satellite to locate her, STAT.

"Gas shortages expected due to fighting in the Middle East"- Gas shortages are expected due to fighting between income and expenditures in my bank account.

"Bipartisan government doesn't agree on anything"- There's Emily, and then there's her foe, Emily's Eating Disorder. They sit in the same chamber and debate the same ideas but Lord knows they're not going to agree.

Last week NPR ran a little story on cohabitation. Apparently, many families are now moving into single households to save money and better utilize their resources. Lo and behold, look who just moved back into her parent's house...

Ah, the joys of cohabitation. I don't believe anyone can truly understand the domino effect until they live with another. There are currently five people in my family; multiply that by however many dominoes exist in a set and you've got a full-blown tsuanami. Hyperbole aside, I need to admit that moving back in with my family is the single most scary step I've taken since going into treatment. Actually, it feels a lot like treatment.

There are a million things that I worry about when considering the implications of living with my family. First, there's what society tells me to think. My old roommate and I recently had a conversation about how "so many lazy people are just OK with living with their families and taking jobs they don't like." Then there's the fact that at 23-years-old I "should" be working my first real job, beginning to pay off my bills, living in my own apartment, etc. Says "them."

That's the first layer. The second layer is what the people immediately around me think. What will those friends say who voted me "The Next Oprah" in high school or told me that "one day I would be President" in college?

Layer three: my immediate family. How many terrible repercussions might come of my moving in? My sisters have to combine rooms, absorbing my impact. My parents have to take care of another person under their roof. Then there's one of my biggest worries of all: living with people who can be affected by your emotions. I've found that with my family I am much more likely to vent, complain and act dramatic. I know that they'll always love me so I find myself become extra emotional, belting my feelings because it feels kind of good to be over-the-top and in-the-moment. Doing this on the phone is one thing. Doing this every time I walk in the door is too much of another. I've got to learn how better to regulate my emotions.

Next is the dark layer: my eating disorder. I would be a liar if I didn't say that I've been struggling to keep up the weight gain and limit my exercise; I'm now trying to put in thousands more calories than the average person. Living at home might be a godsend in that I always have access to tasty food and often someone else to make it for me. But to my eating disorder this constant temptation to "indulge" feels a wire sponge scratching my temples. My eating disorder whines that my parents will notice how much I exercise or how little I eat. My eating disorder compares my food intake to my that of my family's, tells me to eat the "light" food that is ubiquitous in my house, and shows me how to restrict. Living at home is one of the biggest challenges to my eating disorder yet, which may also mean it's one of the best things I can do.

Finally, after everything else, I wonder how I actually feel about this move. I feel scared...nervous...my lungs constrict a little bit and my eyes seem to slide a little further back in my head. I feel guilty, very guilty, and a little ashamed. But I also feel warm, comforted, and loved. I feel a little less bogged down by decisions. And I feel like it's silly to impose judgment on these emotions. My time is better spent unpacking.

I'm here; that's really all there is to it. I know that the way to mitigate any of my worries is to do what needs to be done: find the strength to make the best of this situation, count my blessings within it, and use the break to shore up my resources for the next surge forward.

Wait, didn't NPR just report a win for the good guys?

My check will come any day now...