Making your own rules doesn’t make you a rebel, it makes you rigid


I grew up in a family with a set of rules, ones that backed up my parents expectations and ones that reflected their beliefs. I got older and then there were new rules, set by school and church and jobs or anything that I got apart of. Although, I look at my life and think I was somewhat rebellious, for the most part, I loved following rules.

And these rules weren’t just don’t eat paste, I am talking the life rules that you are told. Be kind and people will like you. Think about others and people will respect you. Fake it til you make it. 

Rules were what separated the good and the bad. If you do this, you are good, if not, then you are bad. If you do it well, you deserve praise, if you suck, people will talk. I love that. Follow tasks and boom, you win. I am going to get a tad boastful, but with almost anything that involves rules and standards, I am pretty damn good at. I am always a top employee, and I fucking shine in leadership positions because then you help create the rules. I mean, I even have a written list of “Rules of an Argument/Breakup” that I reference like it’s a goddamn famous speech. 

Go Sarah. Woo. Party. 

The thing though about rules it that with a black and white rule system that I shine in leaves no room for gray area. Most people realize that there is some grey matter in life and prepare for it. Realizing that yes, it is important to think of others but in some situations its ok to think about yourself. Or, to reference my rules of an argument, I would firmly tell you that in every argument and breakup, there is a winner and a loser but I refused to think of a situation where they either both acted crazy after the breakup or, an even harsher pill for me to swallow, what if they were both ok and they were both winners. I would imagine that most people would see that but I refused to.

There were forces that out of my own control that traumatically impacted me, like my dad getting sick, that made my grey matter get out of hand. My dad was kind and was healthy how is he sick? That’s not what the rules say. He should be fine, he did what he was supposed to do. And from there things got more out of control because things kept happening to me that either had a rule that put me in my perception of a being the “loser” of the situation or things that shouldn’t of happened to me because it was not the result that the rules that I was raised on told me it would be. 

So I created my own rules. I wouldn’t plunge right in because, ya know, what if it was a wrong rule that gave me a bad result? So, slowly and carefully, I would dip my toe into newly created rules that I hoped would give me a purpose. I thought I had found the loop hole in the rule system, if I find rules that work, then I can create what the destiny will be if I follow them. I could turn the black into white and eliminate the grey. After months of dabbling, I found rules that worked. Rules that were an eating disorder.

It felt incredible at first. Purge this, look like that. Weigh this and you’ll achieve that, etc. etc. It was perfect and not going to lie, sometimes the rules resulted in the expectation. That’s what made it addicting. If I only ate x amount of calories and I got compliments, imagine what would happen if I ate even lower. It took me months, but I found an eating disorder routine that worked and what I thought was success was a disguise of the severity of the disorder. Eventually there were more rules and less resulted. I was where I started, in a pool of gray the I didn’t expect while the black and white became further and further apart.

Then I went to rehab, blah, blah, blah. 

Now Im here. Been doing PHP/IOP for 2 months, continuing to gain weight, and following the recovery rules which honestly don’t feel as good following because it mainly consists of being yourself and eating. Which, to me, is like having a hallmark card in one hand and  a panera gift card in the other. There whole thing is to give up the control and let life happen and even the result is unknown. You would think with all this loving yourself shit, you’d be promised a hug or a daily rainbow. Nope, you just get insurance and supplements. 

And I find myself, making rules in my mind constantly and getting excited about the fictional high that I dream will come with it. Creating times to eat, creating ways to purge, things to order, ways to lie with the result of happiness and thinness. Also what my disorder tells me that if you follow this new set of rules, adapted by your own rules, then nobody will know because this time, secrecy will be more of  a priority this time and this time, I will be happier. 

I want to follow these so bad. I want a system that can tell me my worth by following simple steps, not having to go into an area of my life that doesn’t allow me to protect myself with rules. I loved the feeling of believing I found this magic elixir that give me the rebellious control to be create a loophole in life that allows me to create my own rules and create my own results. 

I don’t know what I am going to do now. I know what I should do and I know what I want to do. I know that the main result from my old rules transformed me into a person that wasn’t myself instead of a free bird with the secret code of life. I mean, I am pretty secure in saying that tomorrow I will put the recovery rules into play but what about in a month when I am back at school. My mind always goes back to “What if something bad happens again and I don’t have my rules to protect myself”. It is a fair fear for me to have to admit that today might be my last Father’s Day with my dad and I would most like hear about his passing when I am at school. Those rules have kept me safe before, if they didn’t, I would have never followed them in the first place. 

What to do, my kittens, what to do




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