“This is why,“ I think to myself as I take another bite of pasta. “This is why you can’t lose any weight despite hours of exercise each day.”
This is how I deal with stress, with disappointment, with not knowing what to do. I eat and I exercise. I used to purge, but I haven’t done much of that since leaving treatment a month ago. Now I just kill myself on my bike. Which I did, right before eating the pasta.
I was supposed to go car shopping today, but due to a series of events, was unable to. That’s the 4th time in a row. I’m beginning to think I will never be able to buy a car. All I want is a little independence. All I want is to be able to get around when my fibromyalgia is acting up. All I want is stability. All I want is freedom.
All I get is disappointment. So, all I do is exercise and eat. It’s better than the alternative, I suppose. I really wanted to cut, but I worked out and ate pasta instead. It’s “safer” at the very least, I’m told. Better to kill myself slowly with bulimia than to slice open my veins, they tell me.
Just once, I want something to go right.