Tree trunks and Easter Eggony

What follows is a post I began writing a couple of weeks ago and then couldn't muster the energy to complete it. 
I'm returning because I wanted to finish but again, I find my mind can't produce the words I need...


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It's probably not quite accurate to say, 'I'm scared of myself...' 
More that I'm scared of the Anorexia that has taken up residence within me. I'm scared of the power that it has; the unyielding grip on a part of my brain; the power of a tumultuous ocean over a small vessel.


'Where is my anchor?' I ask myself as I type.
Good question.


I rarely refer to my faith in my writing. I'm not sure why, because spirituality is a central part of me. It runs right through my core, which would explain why it is that every time I have tried to walk away from it, all I've really done is walk around it, as if its the trunk of a huge tree which is wide enough to fit twenty of me in it. 
As I walk around it, the trunk appears to be different, hence I don't recognise it as the very same faith that runs through me, strong and woody. 


Easter, the trunk of the Christian faith, is a time of major celebration. For the Anorexic though, it is the equivalent misery of Lent's forty days rolled into one huge,  thick walled, Green and Blacks' finest milk chocolate egg! 
The eggs appear everywhere. 
Seductive to the starved flesh. It's like a tiny torture! 


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A few weeks later and I'm calmer. 
I'm still working. Building up to three full days a week. Exhausting. 
My weight isn't moving up but the desire to live is stronger.


Today I choose life.


I just have to actually choose to DO life. Not just conceptualise, theorise, spiritualise... I have to make it physical. 


"Easier said than done", springs to mind.