This is how I feel right now.
All this week I’ve had one meal a day, which I promptly purged. Today, I had two meals. My dad bought me dinner and I felt obligated to eat it. I just purged the second meal. After purging, I just didn’t feel satisfied, so I drank a glass of water and purged again. I did this until I saw blood.
Then I felt satisfied.
Why? I have no idea.
It’s probably a good thing that I start intensive outpatient treatment on Monday. I am NOT looking forward to it. I know I need it, but I’m slightly terrified and a lot just not looking forward to all that treatment entails. This isn’t my first time in treatment, I know it’s hard work. I know that a lot of it sucks. I know that after the last time, I thought it was totally worth it. However, so much of me still doesn’t want to give this up. I don’t want to face what I need to face, I don’t want to put in the hard work I know will be required to recover.
All this said, when I look to my future, I don’t want bulimia to be a part of it. I don’t want to take this into marriage, if that happens. I don’t want to be a bulimic mom. I don’t want to be a bulimic teacher. I want to be happy with myself. I want to be able to accept myself, maybe even love myself. I at least want to not loathe myself.
I tried stabbing myself earlier this week. I learned that it is a lot harder, psychologically, than I realized to stab oneself. I tried and tried but I couldn’t get my arm to apply enough pressure to actually stab myself. I tried about 35 times. I have little nicks and cuts all over my stomach, but no stab wounds.
I wasn’t suicidal. I wasn’t trying to end my life. I just hated myself and hated my stupid, fat stomach and my loathing made me feel the need to stab my stomach.
So anyway, I’m sitting here all bundled up, cold, sore, my chest and rib muscles ache from purging, my throat raw, dizzy, no energy, planning my one allowed meal for tomorrow and wishing I wasn’t starting the eating disorder treatment program next week, yet relieved that I am.