I hate my meal plan.
I made a pact with a friend that neither of us would binge and purge today.
I had a small bowl of cereal, 3 slices of cheese, and a small bowl of vegetable soup today.
I managed to keep down the cereal and cheese. It was hard, but I did it!
I couldn’t keep the soup down.
However, today was a huge improvement over the last couple days.
I’m not sure I’m up to a repeat performance tomorrow.
Today is the first time in the 2 weeks I’ve been back in treatment that I’ve even remotely tried to follow my meal plan.
Sort of.
I ate a small bowl of cereal and half the milk I put in the bowl. I also took my meds and drank a half glass of water.
These are all huge victories.
However, I’m now left nauseous and anxious and trying to keep my food on the inside.
I still have the large, black “STOP” on my hand. It is a reminder not to binge, but also not to purge. I am trying.
It shouldn’t be so hard to keep food in. People all over the world go all day, every day eating food and not giving a second thought as to whether they should keep that food down, whether they should let it digest. Why can’t it be that simple for me?
I wish it weren’t such an internal struggle to just not throw up my food.
I’m going to keep trying. I’m going to win this one.
I may not have faith yet that I can win the war against bulimia, but just this meal, I’m going to win the battle. It’s my turn, dammit. I will be victorious.
I just need to stay away from the bathroom for a few hours, and distract the hell out of myself. No big deal, right? (If only)
I wrote this in my journal last night in bed.
I keep finding myself wondering if I can recover.
When I am living with my disorder, I am “stable”. When I try to recover, I lose all semblance of stability. I start feeling the all-encompassing self-hatred. I start having thoughts about jumping off buildings. I start trying to stab myself.
I can’t handle the level of all out hatred and loathing I have for myself. I don’t know what to do with it, other than to destroy myself.
The other day I wanted to slash my face and throat. I can’t stand to see myself in the mirror. The sight of myself makes me nauseous. I wish I could destroy the mirror.
I want to cut the fat off my body. Some days I don’t even care if I wouldn’t have any skin left after. I can’t possibly be more hideous than I am now. I can’t possibly hate myself more.
If I had a sharper knife, I could probably succeed at stabbing myself.
Luckily, just after that, I started talking to a friend and that helped me a lot. Sometimes what I need is just the opportunity to get outside of my own mind and connect with another person.
I binged.
And binged.
And binged until I was in physical pain.
Then I binged some more.
My body was in excruciating pain, yet I ate, bite after bite. I forced food down my throat. Why?
I don’t know. I just felt the need. The compulsion.
And then I purged. What an amazing release.
Now I sit here, just hating myself.
I am disgusting. I am filth. I don’t deserve food. I don’t deserve anything. I am lower than low.
I considered sewing my mouth shut. Not just a fleeting thought, I actually got out my needle and thread. I want to, but I lack the courage. I hate myself for binging and I hate myself for being too much of a coward to sew my mouth closed.
Instead, I got out my black sharpie and wrote “STOP” on my hand in big letters. I strongly hope this will be enough of a reminder.
I doubt it.
My mind is a repeat track of self-loathing and disgust.
Over and over, it plays, non-stop. There is no escaping it. Even while I’m distracted it plays in the background of my mind, sometimes becoming just loud enough to draw my attention back to it.
It haunts me. It taunts me. It ridicules me. It follows me. It beats me down.
I wish I could sew my mouth shut, but I lack the courage.
a2eternity 