I've got soul but I'm not a soldier

The thing with recovery that you have to learn to accept that whilst its two steps forward there's always that crippling one step back. 

You eat the ice cream, after endless tiresome battling, but look in the mirror and feel compulsed to do 250 crunches and 300 jumping jacks. You know the drill.

Never ending torment with yourself, the enemy, but also your best friend. I often find it hard to distinguish between me and my anorexia. More often than not she becomes personified. Similarly she becomes your best friend and your worst enemy. 

Three steps too far forward, and you are thrown backwards. You've got the strength but don't fight.

I've got soul but I'm not a soldier. 

My anorexia wants to grasp every single part of my body, grapple on to the littlest piece of control it can have. The stronger I get, the weaker it gets. I just have to battle on.