hello again.
ive realized that I repeatedly write on this blog when I am depressed, stressed, or on the verge of wanting-yet-not-seriously-considering suicide. ahhh. drama. :/ sorry. but I guess its a sign that this blog is clearly a stress outlet for me. so that's good.
anyways. today the sob story comes after a weekend in which E and I were able to chat at least a little bit. mainly I just asked her questions about her transition from obsession to reassurance/where she is in terms of Christianity. I was actually prepared to open the can of worms and talk about all the deep, bleak, uncomfortable lies I needed to tell someone. I was going to go there, but things didn't go as planned and our time alone together was horribly, horribly short. so I sort of just had to accept that and try to get as much from her as I wanted to know/could without explicitly stating the hundreds of reasons behind why I truly wanted to know those things.
today (and really the last 3 or so days) I have had serious body hate. like I just HATE my fucking fat body. this little lard cone that is my humongo butt and thighs. I get terrified every single time I have to put on my work uniform because last Friday my worst nightmare came true--my dress pants were too tight because I had lost control around food and all my binging had finally caught up: i.e. Id clearly gained weight. fuck. fuck fuck fuck. I hate gaining weight. I hate being forced to wear pants that are going to be too tight. it feels nearly impossible to let myself try and make progress with intuitive eating because im so terrified that if I gained any more weight or forgave myself for binging things would spiral out of control even more and my pants would DEFINITELY not fit, but because I don't have $30 to go buy a larger size, id be stuck wearing them. and im also so uncomfortable because of my weight/the realities of the gains that I want comfort and thus food.
I need so much fucking help its insane.
all I want to do now, of course, is go on a healthy diet like I did with my half marathon. I want to go extreme. focus on my workouts, set my calorie limit and ban sugars, processed foods, etc. even knowing as I do now that such behavior will only ultimately end with the same weight gain as I had lost, I still want to do it. I want to be thin at least for a while. that's better than not being thin at all and only gaining, gaining, gaining weight.
but that's not truly what I want to do. no, what I really want is to keep/start making progress in recovery and intuitive eating. I want to finally be done with this half-life of eating disorders. but that means facing very dark, deep things of my past. it means going through what I mentally picture as about 7-9 huge bins of old, dusty files. and then...I don't know...having to retype every page into a computer or something. but I am even willing to do this! I am willing to dig and hurt and cry and work through this all. however, I honestly do not think or know how to begin doing it alone. I need help. I need someone to assist me in sorting through it all. where do I start? which bin? the more I think about these things, the more revelation I gain about what how my past correlates with my current state and the development of my eating disorder. so its good to rehash it, I know, but still. who can I ask for help? what if I tell E and then we never talk about it again, like my bulimia? I couldn't handle that. I need someone who will not abandon me to these problems but will take my hand, inhale slowly, and then say with quiet strength and confidence, "let's go." and we will step into the journey together. I need a friend.
I was reading earlier today about suicidal thoughts in children. can they legitimately experience them? and of course, the answer was yes. yes, they can. and if they are expressed, they should be taken seriously and acted on immediately. they are often a voice to the child's desperate need for help; the child most likely feels that he or she is in such a bleak situation that they cannot see any way things could possibly get better. they come to believe that death is the only possible answer or way of escape. yes to all of that.
alright, I think that's all for now. im just gambling away with my body and health and future. I really want to talk with E about all of this.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Thursday, July 11, 2013
healing
so I now know what I need to do to recover. I know the next step. I know what will finally bring me freedom from my compulsive binging and purging and obsession with food.
and I am terrified.
I am so scared of trying to address what is wrong, of facing it. not because it will be painful but because digging into it will necessitate that I tell E my darkest secret. she knows about my bulimia. she knows, from my parents, about cutting. she knows these hidden, disordered things and yet they themselves were never, ever the real issue. the real issue she does not know about; in fact, no one except Kim and Robbie know about it, this horrible haunting reality that I cannot move past. I can see now that I have been splintered from it, and it is the source of pain that keeps sucking me back from healing. everything I do in relation to food comes back down to this. and I have thus far just continuously tried to push it away and when that doesn't work, swallow it down with cherry filled donuts or, when the reality still claws its way into my consciousness, chug enough coke zero to try and violently purge it out of my core. then and really only then can I become so consumed with my immediate pain that the Truth has to take a backseat--my mental security, if you will, finally comes to haul this nagging Reality out the back door. once that's done i can rest in the murky, watery bleakness of my "Eating Disorder World."
but that's not going to work anymore, not if i want to ever truly recover. i have to confront the abuse of my past--not get stuck in it, but rock back and forth between its details and my present life. i have to reexamine what i came to believe then, when i was a victim, and compare it against what i know now as a strong, capable adult. i must take a second look. and i must let myself grieve over what happened. i need to let myself feel angry, heartbroken, depressed, scared. and i need help to do this. i wish i didn't, but i do. the context of what went down in my relationship with God is overwhelmingly confusing for me. and yet it is what keeps me in bondage to bulimia; it is the reality i am terrified of facing and in so many ways have blatantly refused to face, for several reasons.
for one thing, it is nearly absolute taboo within the church to ever call a relationship with God abusive. i know that. God is perfect and holy--He cannot do evil. i agree. im not saying that God Himself was abusive--but i am saying that the ways in which i interacted with God and the beliefs/rituals/mindset i had when i thought i was a Christian were abusive in nature. as i was reading through When Food Is Love by Geneen Roth, everything she kept talking about in the context of previous abuse as children came back to this. ive often wondered why i have so many fucked up relations with food and yet haven't been able to find a direct correlation between any abuse from my parents/friends/family and the habits i watered. but everything, and i really do mean everything, came together when i gently, hesitantly tried labeling whatever relationship it was i had with God as abusive in nature. it makes sense. i don't think its coincidence that the time i recall as being the start of my eating disorder is the same time i "ended" my relationship with God. i left. i said no more. i accepted that i was not a Christian and tried to move on. and in some ways, many ways, i did. but no matter what i do, i still cannot move past the relentless assaults on my conscience over what happened. its there every time i go to church, every time i hear of death; it seeps into my thoughts whenever there's a bad thunderstorm or i board an airplane. the thought, the question of what will happen when i die. where do i stand with God? can i ever be saved? will i ever be redeemed? i long for it and recoil from it at the same time. i used to think i was stupid for feeling both ways. but no, not now when i consider what happened. my reaction makes perfect sense. who wouldn't recoil at the thought of completely surrendering themselves to what was previously an abusive relationship? seriously, i mean, really, it makes sense. of course i am terrified, of course i feel an overwhelming jolt of despair--the relationship i remember was hell. it was horrible. it demanded perfection and did not give grace. it stripped me of dignity and required frequent recitations of my utter lack of worth. it assailed me with doubt and never, EVER assured me whether my endless confessions and prayers for salvation would be answered. i could be told by others that they were, but then if there wasn't fruit in my life, if i wasn't growing or perfect or whatever, then nope, surely you're not saved. that kept me locked in a viscous, endless battle of crying and headaches and OCD-like tendencies. and I have consequently thus far refused to go back to it, to even consider what happened or to try and find resolution within it. I just want nothing to do with it.
but now I am here. and finally I can see that this is the thing--this old, exhausting, painful relationship--is what fabricated the heart of my eating disorder. and i will never be able to move beyond it if i do not confront what went on...i have to face it.
i don't want to tell E the truth about what happened or where i am at now because it will irrevocably and very deeply change the way we interact (there is no way in which it could not). although of everyone i know, E is by far the one person i would feel most comfortable telling. ive learned from my last confession regarding my bulimia not to expect an outburst, not to expect any sign that what i have to say is shocking or unsettling. but things will be different most likely with this revelation...she will have to adjust to the fact that i have been lying about the core of my identity to a lot of people for about 5 years now. i don't want to tell her this. but i know that she struggled with similar issues in terms of OCD-like compulsions regarding what the Holy Spirit was guiding her to do vs. what she incorrectly just felt like God was guiding her to do when she was younger. i don't know how she found freedom from that...but it was one of the key things that made me give up. she may be able to help me do differently now. and she's also grown up in the same family as me, went to the same church on Sundays and youth group on Wednesdays. she will know more so than others where i am coming from. still...even with all of that, i am scared. this is the most basic and fundamental lie i have kept up--it has allowed me to feel safe and protected and comfortable within my family. it has allowed for them to be a safe haven for me. but it has been a sham. i have not been honest and i guess in some ways that means the security was a façade as well. shamefully, i must also admit that telling E now would not be nearly as bad as having told her earlier because at least now i rarely see her anymore anyways. only our limited interactions would be awkward. and yet...and yet. vulnerability terrifies me.
but i have to do this. i have to tell her. i have to face what happened if i ever want full recovery.
and i do.
and I am terrified.
I am so scared of trying to address what is wrong, of facing it. not because it will be painful but because digging into it will necessitate that I tell E my darkest secret. she knows about my bulimia. she knows, from my parents, about cutting. she knows these hidden, disordered things and yet they themselves were never, ever the real issue. the real issue she does not know about; in fact, no one except Kim and Robbie know about it, this horrible haunting reality that I cannot move past. I can see now that I have been splintered from it, and it is the source of pain that keeps sucking me back from healing. everything I do in relation to food comes back down to this. and I have thus far just continuously tried to push it away and when that doesn't work, swallow it down with cherry filled donuts or, when the reality still claws its way into my consciousness, chug enough coke zero to try and violently purge it out of my core. then and really only then can I become so consumed with my immediate pain that the Truth has to take a backseat--my mental security, if you will, finally comes to haul this nagging Reality out the back door. once that's done i can rest in the murky, watery bleakness of my "Eating Disorder World."
but that's not going to work anymore, not if i want to ever truly recover. i have to confront the abuse of my past--not get stuck in it, but rock back and forth between its details and my present life. i have to reexamine what i came to believe then, when i was a victim, and compare it against what i know now as a strong, capable adult. i must take a second look. and i must let myself grieve over what happened. i need to let myself feel angry, heartbroken, depressed, scared. and i need help to do this. i wish i didn't, but i do. the context of what went down in my relationship with God is overwhelmingly confusing for me. and yet it is what keeps me in bondage to bulimia; it is the reality i am terrified of facing and in so many ways have blatantly refused to face, for several reasons.
for one thing, it is nearly absolute taboo within the church to ever call a relationship with God abusive. i know that. God is perfect and holy--He cannot do evil. i agree. im not saying that God Himself was abusive--but i am saying that the ways in which i interacted with God and the beliefs/rituals/mindset i had when i thought i was a Christian were abusive in nature. as i was reading through When Food Is Love by Geneen Roth, everything she kept talking about in the context of previous abuse as children came back to this. ive often wondered why i have so many fucked up relations with food and yet haven't been able to find a direct correlation between any abuse from my parents/friends/family and the habits i watered. but everything, and i really do mean everything, came together when i gently, hesitantly tried labeling whatever relationship it was i had with God as abusive in nature. it makes sense. i don't think its coincidence that the time i recall as being the start of my eating disorder is the same time i "ended" my relationship with God. i left. i said no more. i accepted that i was not a Christian and tried to move on. and in some ways, many ways, i did. but no matter what i do, i still cannot move past the relentless assaults on my conscience over what happened. its there every time i go to church, every time i hear of death; it seeps into my thoughts whenever there's a bad thunderstorm or i board an airplane. the thought, the question of what will happen when i die. where do i stand with God? can i ever be saved? will i ever be redeemed? i long for it and recoil from it at the same time. i used to think i was stupid for feeling both ways. but no, not now when i consider what happened. my reaction makes perfect sense. who wouldn't recoil at the thought of completely surrendering themselves to what was previously an abusive relationship? seriously, i mean, really, it makes sense. of course i am terrified, of course i feel an overwhelming jolt of despair--the relationship i remember was hell. it was horrible. it demanded perfection and did not give grace. it stripped me of dignity and required frequent recitations of my utter lack of worth. it assailed me with doubt and never, EVER assured me whether my endless confessions and prayers for salvation would be answered. i could be told by others that they were, but then if there wasn't fruit in my life, if i wasn't growing or perfect or whatever, then nope, surely you're not saved. that kept me locked in a viscous, endless battle of crying and headaches and OCD-like tendencies. and I have consequently thus far refused to go back to it, to even consider what happened or to try and find resolution within it. I just want nothing to do with it.
but now I am here. and finally I can see that this is the thing--this old, exhausting, painful relationship--is what fabricated the heart of my eating disorder. and i will never be able to move beyond it if i do not confront what went on...i have to face it.
i don't want to tell E the truth about what happened or where i am at now because it will irrevocably and very deeply change the way we interact (there is no way in which it could not). although of everyone i know, E is by far the one person i would feel most comfortable telling. ive learned from my last confession regarding my bulimia not to expect an outburst, not to expect any sign that what i have to say is shocking or unsettling. but things will be different most likely with this revelation...she will have to adjust to the fact that i have been lying about the core of my identity to a lot of people for about 5 years now. i don't want to tell her this. but i know that she struggled with similar issues in terms of OCD-like compulsions regarding what the Holy Spirit was guiding her to do vs. what she incorrectly just felt like God was guiding her to do when she was younger. i don't know how she found freedom from that...but it was one of the key things that made me give up. she may be able to help me do differently now. and she's also grown up in the same family as me, went to the same church on Sundays and youth group on Wednesdays. she will know more so than others where i am coming from. still...even with all of that, i am scared. this is the most basic and fundamental lie i have kept up--it has allowed me to feel safe and protected and comfortable within my family. it has allowed for them to be a safe haven for me. but it has been a sham. i have not been honest and i guess in some ways that means the security was a façade as well. shamefully, i must also admit that telling E now would not be nearly as bad as having told her earlier because at least now i rarely see her anymore anyways. only our limited interactions would be awkward. and yet...and yet. vulnerability terrifies me.
but i have to do this. i have to tell her. i have to face what happened if i ever want full recovery.
and i do.
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
compulsion
yesterday was a weird day. my parents had a political rally/event at the county level to host and we had made about 3 large pans worth of brownies, blonde brownies, and lemon bars. earlier in the day, I had done well with intuitively eating my way through breakfast and lunch (essentially). but when I got home from spending some time at the beach with my sister, my mom had sliced the bars and had saved the crumbs for us to eat. of course D didn't have any, but I felt extremely compelled to just go dive in. and so I did. and it was horrible because I knew from the first chocolate chip all the way until the final crust that I should not be doing this. I shouldn't be eating standing up, and even though I was hungry, I should really be asking my body what it wants. but for whatever inexplicable reason I felt entirely unable to get control and stop. I felt like I HAD to eat that food and I desperately didn't want to say no. so that was weird and threw me into a spiral of not wanting to workout or do anything self-caring, even though if I hadn't eaten them I would have been perfectly happy working out.
so that was that.
then came the evening I had been greatly anticipating and dreading for days. oh yes--the buffet style meal in which there would be endless amounts of food to partake in. I was worried I wouldn't be hungry to begin with, but I was, so that was good. And I pretty muchly only took what I wanted to eat and did sit down. That was okay. The problem came when I went back for more...and then more...and kept trying to sneak more and more food. I didn't actually get my hands on nearly as much as I wanted to or as much as this post probably makes it sound like I ate. but the problem I have, and what I still do not fully understand (and thus am trying to cultivate curiosity about) is what the hell was going on in my mind in relation to this food. its crazy how much during the meeting I felt so INSANELY possessive over the food that was present. like, literally, after some reflection last night, I think the best way to describe it is like watching your ex boyfriend sleep with hundreds of other girls, and some of them sluts, just like you. seriously, it was awful. I kept my eye on the table of food basically all night long. and whenever people would grab a helping of something I was so internally anxious and broken. I felt antsy, like I was only one knee jerk away from leaping from my chair and sprinting to go protect the desserts on the table. and then at the end of the night, while we were cleaning up, I was like, oh my gosh--I can't let anyone take any of this food home! T and others would say, "alright guys--come get more food! don't make us take this all home!" and I wanted to cry and scream and push everyone away and just hover around my food. I felt like a mother protecting her children, her precious children, against vicious wolves. I mean, there was even a point last night where I was playing out my full fantasy of being able to just be entirely, entirely alone with all that food in the field near the airport parking lot. and nothing had ever seemed more deliciously satisfying and lonely. what stupid, selfish, horrible images--and yet how telling. seriously, if this is how im feeling about something as simple as us making a lot of bars for a potluck/buffet dinner I need to sit up and look closer. clearly there is something a hell of a lot bigger going on under the surface here that is causing me to react with such desperation. I mean last night when we got home I binged with dad basically on bars and cookies. then I woke up starving this morning and basically on autopilot went downstairs and binged a lot harder on the same bars and cookies. and im still planning to binge again when everyone leaves for the morning. so what's going on, dear? huh? what is causing you to do this?
I need to give it some more thought.
so that was that.
then came the evening I had been greatly anticipating and dreading for days. oh yes--the buffet style meal in which there would be endless amounts of food to partake in. I was worried I wouldn't be hungry to begin with, but I was, so that was good. And I pretty muchly only took what I wanted to eat and did sit down. That was okay. The problem came when I went back for more...and then more...and kept trying to sneak more and more food. I didn't actually get my hands on nearly as much as I wanted to or as much as this post probably makes it sound like I ate. but the problem I have, and what I still do not fully understand (and thus am trying to cultivate curiosity about) is what the hell was going on in my mind in relation to this food. its crazy how much during the meeting I felt so INSANELY possessive over the food that was present. like, literally, after some reflection last night, I think the best way to describe it is like watching your ex boyfriend sleep with hundreds of other girls, and some of them sluts, just like you. seriously, it was awful. I kept my eye on the table of food basically all night long. and whenever people would grab a helping of something I was so internally anxious and broken. I felt antsy, like I was only one knee jerk away from leaping from my chair and sprinting to go protect the desserts on the table. and then at the end of the night, while we were cleaning up, I was like, oh my gosh--I can't let anyone take any of this food home! T and others would say, "alright guys--come get more food! don't make us take this all home!" and I wanted to cry and scream and push everyone away and just hover around my food. I felt like a mother protecting her children, her precious children, against vicious wolves. I mean, there was even a point last night where I was playing out my full fantasy of being able to just be entirely, entirely alone with all that food in the field near the airport parking lot. and nothing had ever seemed more deliciously satisfying and lonely. what stupid, selfish, horrible images--and yet how telling. seriously, if this is how im feeling about something as simple as us making a lot of bars for a potluck/buffet dinner I need to sit up and look closer. clearly there is something a hell of a lot bigger going on under the surface here that is causing me to react with such desperation. I mean last night when we got home I binged with dad basically on bars and cookies. then I woke up starving this morning and basically on autopilot went downstairs and binged a lot harder on the same bars and cookies. and im still planning to binge again when everyone leaves for the morning. so what's going on, dear? huh? what is causing you to do this?
I need to give it some more thought.
Sunday, June 30, 2013
to feel pain, or not to feel pain. why am i supposed to choose the first?
if you believe your pain will never end, you will act in any irresponsible, desperate way that could possibly bring even the slightest reprieve. intuitive eating was going extremely well for a few weeks there for me. i had had some slip ups, of course; things were not perfect but i was growing, i was learning, i was healing. and then Friday came. i was feeling bored, annoyed, lonely as hell, and just depressed. there was a relentlessly pissy mood that kept gnawing at me. and i had been trying for days to shake it off, breathe through it, welcome the feeling, even. i kept expecting it to eventually pass but it wasnt. and finally i just got so sick of it that i decided, to hell with it! i want to eat to be rid of this crappy mood! i justified that it was Friday and i finally had a day off at home with my family and i didnt want to ruin it by being crabby with people all day. so i checked out and binged. and binged. and binged some more with Mackenzie and Danae. and then i went to bed, feeling sick and disgusting and fat, but also fairly confident that Saturday would go differently. id go back to intuitive eating and things would return to normal. this was just a little desperation-caused mistake.
but that's not what happened. and i guess if i had given even the slightest of closer looks at the realities of my eating disorder history, i would have known that there is almost never an overnight change. no, coming back to a desire for sanity and health can take days or weeks after you slip into the coma of binging and purging. it does not happen after one bad day. it happens when youre $50 in debt over food and your pants dont fit and youre exhausted from getting up at 5 AM to go sneak the bag of vomit you produced while purging in your closet the night before to the outdoor garbage. ít comes when you have so many canker sores in your mouth from vomitting that nothing with sugar or salt sounds appealing anymore. that's when it happens. not when you've just sucked comfort and relief and ecstacy from your drug. no, you simpleton, no. it never comes then, never when you want it to.
and with that reality i find myself still, as of Sunday night, binging and purging my heart out. i have little to no desire to come back and feel pain. i think that realization was sort of what did me in on Friday. i was just like, enough! okay? enough! even if i can survive this pain and "feel" my way through it, the feelings still are here. and they hurt, they just.....hurt. and i dont want to hurt. i dont want to have to sit through feeling uncomfortable. why cant i just numb myself up? shoot up my brain with seratonin through cheesy potato wedges and mint heath shakes? i just want to get lost in the endless cycle of body hate and obsessing and sneaking that comes with numbing myself. why do i have to stay present and hurt? to what end?
i guess one thing i forgot then that ive sort of come to recall over the past few days here is that one reason it may be better to stay "awake" and alive with your pain vs. trying to run from it is that doing the latter doesnt actually make things ultimately better. i know, i know--you dont want to hear that or think about it, but it doesnt, Shannon. yes, you stop feeling the pain of the moment. i will give you that. it's a blanket-like way of canceling out anything and everything uncomfortable. but trust me, being full as hell all the time from overeating and never wanting to stop overeating despite having to face people/work/etc. is not fun. neither is having to drive from walmart to restaurant to public park bathroom to purge because youre so terrified of weight gain any fun. and for that matter, neither is having your body be so used to involuntarily purging that you end up just throwing up all over yourself while coming to a stoplight after you chugged a Mint Condition Cooler. that is not fun. and you will find even then that you're STILLLLLL unhappy, just now in different ways. you want to be hungry and enjoy meals but because you're so endlessly, compulsively driven to not face reality you can never ever pass up a chance to shovel in more food. so the pain still comes, only now you cant bear to face it, any of it, so you cant stop your behavior. your issues begin piling up like laundry.
but i think,...in the spirit of honesty, that this is exactly part of what appeals to me about having an eating disorder, part of why i can never let this thing go for good. id rather just worry about my ED that have to deal with real problems. real problems mean coming to the horrifying reality that i am not saved. and that how i am living and issues i face are signs of something deeply wrong with me. and i dont have any clue as to how and even begin engaging with Christ again. i am so mystified and scared at the thought of having to entirely surrender and change my life that i avoid thinking about it at all costs. i avoid reality. and that means i must avoid intuitive eating as well. i must stay stuck if i want any hope of coping...what a horrible realization.
but that's not what happened. and i guess if i had given even the slightest of closer looks at the realities of my eating disorder history, i would have known that there is almost never an overnight change. no, coming back to a desire for sanity and health can take days or weeks after you slip into the coma of binging and purging. it does not happen after one bad day. it happens when youre $50 in debt over food and your pants dont fit and youre exhausted from getting up at 5 AM to go sneak the bag of vomit you produced while purging in your closet the night before to the outdoor garbage. ít comes when you have so many canker sores in your mouth from vomitting that nothing with sugar or salt sounds appealing anymore. that's when it happens. not when you've just sucked comfort and relief and ecstacy from your drug. no, you simpleton, no. it never comes then, never when you want it to.
and with that reality i find myself still, as of Sunday night, binging and purging my heart out. i have little to no desire to come back and feel pain. i think that realization was sort of what did me in on Friday. i was just like, enough! okay? enough! even if i can survive this pain and "feel" my way through it, the feelings still are here. and they hurt, they just.....hurt. and i dont want to hurt. i dont want to have to sit through feeling uncomfortable. why cant i just numb myself up? shoot up my brain with seratonin through cheesy potato wedges and mint heath shakes? i just want to get lost in the endless cycle of body hate and obsessing and sneaking that comes with numbing myself. why do i have to stay present and hurt? to what end?
i guess one thing i forgot then that ive sort of come to recall over the past few days here is that one reason it may be better to stay "awake" and alive with your pain vs. trying to run from it is that doing the latter doesnt actually make things ultimately better. i know, i know--you dont want to hear that or think about it, but it doesnt, Shannon. yes, you stop feeling the pain of the moment. i will give you that. it's a blanket-like way of canceling out anything and everything uncomfortable. but trust me, being full as hell all the time from overeating and never wanting to stop overeating despite having to face people/work/etc. is not fun. neither is having to drive from walmart to restaurant to public park bathroom to purge because youre so terrified of weight gain any fun. and for that matter, neither is having your body be so used to involuntarily purging that you end up just throwing up all over yourself while coming to a stoplight after you chugged a Mint Condition Cooler. that is not fun. and you will find even then that you're STILLLLLL unhappy, just now in different ways. you want to be hungry and enjoy meals but because you're so endlessly, compulsively driven to not face reality you can never ever pass up a chance to shovel in more food. so the pain still comes, only now you cant bear to face it, any of it, so you cant stop your behavior. your issues begin piling up like laundry.
but i think,...in the spirit of honesty, that this is exactly part of what appeals to me about having an eating disorder, part of why i can never let this thing go for good. id rather just worry about my ED that have to deal with real problems. real problems mean coming to the horrifying reality that i am not saved. and that how i am living and issues i face are signs of something deeply wrong with me. and i dont have any clue as to how and even begin engaging with Christ again. i am so mystified and scared at the thought of having to entirely surrender and change my life that i avoid thinking about it at all costs. i avoid reality. and that means i must avoid intuitive eating as well. i must stay stuck if i want any hope of coping...what a horrible realization.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
unexpected
so among the things i didnt see coming today:
1. having a hard time sleeping last night initially and yet not waking up to severe thunderstorms this morning
2. having a meltdown/panic attack in front of Mom and D in the van because i was so overwhelmed with anxiety about seventy five different things
3. not going with Mom and D to shop/go to D's appointment but instead staying home and binging and purging for three hours
i thought today was going to be an easy day for me, food wise. i got my workout in early, was planning to be gone shopping with the safety net of my mom and sister all day, killing time and having fun. but that is not what happened. instead, i got up early and was in a great mood. i felt good. i enjoyed breakfast but had no desire to binge or overeat. i was reading all these posts on this Fuck It Diet eating site that's basically all about how to eat intuitively and not give a damn about diet rules and the diseased mindsets that accompany them. awesome, right? i was simultaneously continuing to watch these intuitive eating/eating disorder recovery videos on youtube with this wonderful lady named Nina that ive been working through for a while. ive been planning to commit to recovery/intuitive eating once i finish with training for this race, so ive been doing some research. today it was a double-whammy for twice the impact, right? who knows.
basically i did that, worked out, and showered. for some reason though, in the shower, i noticed how overwhelmed and panicky i was beginning to feel. i guess the forecast triggered that for me. i knew that it was supposed to storm strongly later today and tonight and i ALWAYS get the most dreadful, sickening feeling when i hear that and have an extremely hard time forgetting it/focusing on anything else until the predicted time/storm has passed. anyways, so there was that. there was also, oddly enough, this nagging in my mind about my body image. yeah. not really something i normally get too hung up on. i mean, i dont like how i look and i have been dissapointed somewhat this week with how much fat i still have from all that b/p-ing for four weeks of my race training. but i thought i was okay with that, in the sense that i felt like i deserved what i had, was still working hard this final week, etc. i was okay. i thought. but for whatever reason, despite my attempts at positive self-talk/affirmation, i was really, really bugged by how i looked. i hated the fat on my legs. i hated the cellulite on my butt and the muffin top on my abs. i hated it and couldnt get over my despising it. this wasnt, again, too big of a deal, it was more of what came after it in combination with it.
after i was finally dressed/ready to leave, i headed downstairs and ended up having made D and Mom late having to wait for me to hurry my fucking ass up and get the hell out the door. i felt bad about that. then i needed to pack a lunch because i had zip-o money and didnt want to request a stop at the bank. however, i normally drink V8 for part of my lunch, but of course, couldnt pack that. i also wanted to bring some cottage cheese along for an afternoon snack but wouldnt be able to because it wouldnt keep (too hot) in the car all day. strike again. this meant, essentially, that i would be about 150 calories or so under my given amount all afternoon, and for whatever reason i mentally couldnt cope with that. i was terrified that this would mean me either being miserably hungry/irritated or going on a binge. now im like, how would i have binged without money??? i think maybe i was thinking itd be like last week where i had mom buy me a protein bar because things had run later than expected and i was hungry and also entirely unconcerned about eating healthy. yeah. that was a bad week. anyways, i knew that now that mentality was not going to fly and i was going to need my perfectly healthy little foods if i wanted any hope of checking off today as a success. then i started thinking about how if i binged, thatd be the fucking end of the world and i really didnt want to. i couldnt. i and then remembered again how entirely fat i was feeling and how i had to try on dress pants if i went. that stressed me out because i was pretty sure i would have no idea what size to buy since i could easily gain weight within the next few weeks here. i really didnt want to make mom buy a pair that i couldnt fit into again. that, however, reminded me that i would be looking into dressing room mirrors and seeing my cellulite covered thighs all lumpy and pudgy under the lights. that would likely trigger a binge urge/utter disgust.
anyways, normally these things are struggles i can handle. yes, i get stressed sometimes, yes i dont like storms, no im not a huge fan of my body, but normally this is something i can manage. but today i just couldnt. i dont know, i just felt so fucking stressed and literally on the verge of a panic attack. i kept feeling like everything was too tight, like i couldnt get a deep breath, like i would/had forgotten how to breathe. i just felt SO FUCKING ANXIOUS about everything!!! it was overwhelming and i felt completely vulnerable to the mercy of my fucking mind. powerless. just lying there, terrified that it would consume me and make me hurt myself. it was horrible, absolutely horrible. and as soon as i started expressing my not wanting to come with/telling mom i felt like i could have a panic attack, i started crying my eyes out. like hiccups, deep gasps, shuddering, cant breathe/get control kind of crying. the more i thought about all that i had to choose between and all that id have to endure if i went with, the more anxious i got. wrapped in spiral of "if this, then end-of-the-world" thinking. for some reason that idea of trying on dress pants and feeling fat was really getting to me. my mind felt like it would need to start cutting off my skin if i did that. yeah......that happened. crazy, i know. even when Mom, very sweet Mom, tried asking me what i normally packed/offered to buy me Subway or something i was okay with, i couldnt get control, i told her i didnt want to make her spend money on me, but she said she was okay with it, even though she normally makes a big deal of it. i was actually touched, really, even though i think she was just desperately wanting to help me stop freaking out. but and then mom started praying, which was a nice gesture, but also was nearly impossible to take in because i am not a Christian, so all these promises she was claiming in Christ do not apply to me. in fact, when she said that God is powerful, more powerful than anything, all i could think about was how, for me, that meant one thing: i could be killed by a storm from Him in an instant, He could make me die and start facing the eternal hell that i deserve for these addictions and pride that i have. so that just made me depressed. in the end, i felt like it was clear that i needed to stay home. if i went with, i would likely have an even greater panic attack, and more importantly, the only way i saw to squash this anxiety was to binge and purge. oh rah rah, right? good job, you little whore, let's immerse ourselves alone in our eating disorder to solve our problems. great work. *sigh* i know, but i justified then and even now that panic attacks are really scary shit and i didnt want to risk falling into one alone at home. so i needed to drug up my mind with seratonin so that it couldnt even go there. so far so good.
i just dont know what to do anymore. things felt and probably will soon again feel very out of control. im hoping that these panic attacks dont become a regular thing, though, because i dont want to have to keep binging and purging to handle them. that would be horrible. as for now, im rather scared for Mom and D to come home because im not sure if they're going to make me talk about what happened. and im not sure what to say. i feel like that kind of gave them a peek into how utterly overwhelming this ED is for me a lot of the time. but i also dont want to admit what that was. i want to ignore it, shove it under the rug, say i dont know what happened, im good now, etc. but that would be lying and truth is probably good. when you have secrets, though, its hard to let people in a little. they get quite close to unveiling the ugly then, and the tightrope becomes even tighter for trying to keep things in control.
oh control. oh bulimia. you two fucking bitches won again.
1. having a hard time sleeping last night initially and yet not waking up to severe thunderstorms this morning
2. having a meltdown/panic attack in front of Mom and D in the van because i was so overwhelmed with anxiety about seventy five different things
3. not going with Mom and D to shop/go to D's appointment but instead staying home and binging and purging for three hours
i thought today was going to be an easy day for me, food wise. i got my workout in early, was planning to be gone shopping with the safety net of my mom and sister all day, killing time and having fun. but that is not what happened. instead, i got up early and was in a great mood. i felt good. i enjoyed breakfast but had no desire to binge or overeat. i was reading all these posts on this Fuck It Diet eating site that's basically all about how to eat intuitively and not give a damn about diet rules and the diseased mindsets that accompany them. awesome, right? i was simultaneously continuing to watch these intuitive eating/eating disorder recovery videos on youtube with this wonderful lady named Nina that ive been working through for a while. ive been planning to commit to recovery/intuitive eating once i finish with training for this race, so ive been doing some research. today it was a double-whammy for twice the impact, right? who knows.
basically i did that, worked out, and showered. for some reason though, in the shower, i noticed how overwhelmed and panicky i was beginning to feel. i guess the forecast triggered that for me. i knew that it was supposed to storm strongly later today and tonight and i ALWAYS get the most dreadful, sickening feeling when i hear that and have an extremely hard time forgetting it/focusing on anything else until the predicted time/storm has passed. anyways, so there was that. there was also, oddly enough, this nagging in my mind about my body image. yeah. not really something i normally get too hung up on. i mean, i dont like how i look and i have been dissapointed somewhat this week with how much fat i still have from all that b/p-ing for four weeks of my race training. but i thought i was okay with that, in the sense that i felt like i deserved what i had, was still working hard this final week, etc. i was okay. i thought. but for whatever reason, despite my attempts at positive self-talk/affirmation, i was really, really bugged by how i looked. i hated the fat on my legs. i hated the cellulite on my butt and the muffin top on my abs. i hated it and couldnt get over my despising it. this wasnt, again, too big of a deal, it was more of what came after it in combination with it.
after i was finally dressed/ready to leave, i headed downstairs and ended up having made D and Mom late having to wait for me to hurry my fucking ass up and get the hell out the door. i felt bad about that. then i needed to pack a lunch because i had zip-o money and didnt want to request a stop at the bank. however, i normally drink V8 for part of my lunch, but of course, couldnt pack that. i also wanted to bring some cottage cheese along for an afternoon snack but wouldnt be able to because it wouldnt keep (too hot) in the car all day. strike again. this meant, essentially, that i would be about 150 calories or so under my given amount all afternoon, and for whatever reason i mentally couldnt cope with that. i was terrified that this would mean me either being miserably hungry/irritated or going on a binge. now im like, how would i have binged without money??? i think maybe i was thinking itd be like last week where i had mom buy me a protein bar because things had run later than expected and i was hungry and also entirely unconcerned about eating healthy. yeah. that was a bad week. anyways, i knew that now that mentality was not going to fly and i was going to need my perfectly healthy little foods if i wanted any hope of checking off today as a success. then i started thinking about how if i binged, thatd be the fucking end of the world and i really didnt want to. i couldnt. i and then remembered again how entirely fat i was feeling and how i had to try on dress pants if i went. that stressed me out because i was pretty sure i would have no idea what size to buy since i could easily gain weight within the next few weeks here. i really didnt want to make mom buy a pair that i couldnt fit into again. that, however, reminded me that i would be looking into dressing room mirrors and seeing my cellulite covered thighs all lumpy and pudgy under the lights. that would likely trigger a binge urge/utter disgust.
anyways, normally these things are struggles i can handle. yes, i get stressed sometimes, yes i dont like storms, no im not a huge fan of my body, but normally this is something i can manage. but today i just couldnt. i dont know, i just felt so fucking stressed and literally on the verge of a panic attack. i kept feeling like everything was too tight, like i couldnt get a deep breath, like i would/had forgotten how to breathe. i just felt SO FUCKING ANXIOUS about everything!!! it was overwhelming and i felt completely vulnerable to the mercy of my fucking mind. powerless. just lying there, terrified that it would consume me and make me hurt myself. it was horrible, absolutely horrible. and as soon as i started expressing my not wanting to come with/telling mom i felt like i could have a panic attack, i started crying my eyes out. like hiccups, deep gasps, shuddering, cant breathe/get control kind of crying. the more i thought about all that i had to choose between and all that id have to endure if i went with, the more anxious i got. wrapped in spiral of "if this, then end-of-the-world" thinking. for some reason that idea of trying on dress pants and feeling fat was really getting to me. my mind felt like it would need to start cutting off my skin if i did that. yeah......that happened. crazy, i know. even when Mom, very sweet Mom, tried asking me what i normally packed/offered to buy me Subway or something i was okay with, i couldnt get control, i told her i didnt want to make her spend money on me, but she said she was okay with it, even though she normally makes a big deal of it. i was actually touched, really, even though i think she was just desperately wanting to help me stop freaking out. but and then mom started praying, which was a nice gesture, but also was nearly impossible to take in because i am not a Christian, so all these promises she was claiming in Christ do not apply to me. in fact, when she said that God is powerful, more powerful than anything, all i could think about was how, for me, that meant one thing: i could be killed by a storm from Him in an instant, He could make me die and start facing the eternal hell that i deserve for these addictions and pride that i have. so that just made me depressed. in the end, i felt like it was clear that i needed to stay home. if i went with, i would likely have an even greater panic attack, and more importantly, the only way i saw to squash this anxiety was to binge and purge. oh rah rah, right? good job, you little whore, let's immerse ourselves alone in our eating disorder to solve our problems. great work. *sigh* i know, but i justified then and even now that panic attacks are really scary shit and i didnt want to risk falling into one alone at home. so i needed to drug up my mind with seratonin so that it couldnt even go there. so far so good.
i just dont know what to do anymore. things felt and probably will soon again feel very out of control. im hoping that these panic attacks dont become a regular thing, though, because i dont want to have to keep binging and purging to handle them. that would be horrible. as for now, im rather scared for Mom and D to come home because im not sure if they're going to make me talk about what happened. and im not sure what to say. i feel like that kind of gave them a peek into how utterly overwhelming this ED is for me a lot of the time. but i also dont want to admit what that was. i want to ignore it, shove it under the rug, say i dont know what happened, im good now, etc. but that would be lying and truth is probably good. when you have secrets, though, its hard to let people in a little. they get quite close to unveiling the ugly then, and the tightrope becomes even tighter for trying to keep things in control.
oh control. oh bulimia. you two fucking bitches won again.
Friday, May 17, 2013
%$@# this eating disorder
as i sit here in bed, warm tears filling my ears, my tummy full enough to force regurgitation without trying, all i can think is
FUCKKKKKKKKKKKK this eating disorder!!!!! FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1
i hate this thing that consumes me! i have fucking fallen into its FUCKING lies again. again again a-fucking-gain i am desperate and depressed because of its whoring control. just FUCK this thing! im so fucking sick of it.
there is an insistent track in my mind that this was and is my choice, it's always been my choice. i look temptation right in the eyes every time, and think to myself, i could say no here, i could resist. but then i still cave. i directly say yes to giving in. FUUCCCK this eating disorder! FUCK IT! i hate it. i hate all the fucking stress it brings to every fucking mealtime. i couldnt even enjoy Erin being home because from 4:30pm this afternoon onward all ive been able to think about is how hellishly hungry i am and how desperate i want pizza NOW. and i dont want two pieces--i want as many as i want to eat. and then with that desire and temptation comes the obsessing, the fucking endless obsessing of every afternoon where i dont have to workout. oh yes, my little fucking mind will relentlessly spend its time consumed with thoughts about that food and whether im going to binge or be good, binge or be good. "nothing lasts forever" "you CAN get through this" "think of the half-marathon" and then during dinner, all i can think about is food and i begin to thoroughly hate my family, hate that they're at the table, in the house. my fucked up, selfish little mind begins whispering a stream of bitter, angry thoughts. why do they have to be here? i dont care about this conversation, i dont care about church or ideas or people or newborns or weddings or gardens. i just want that damn food! why are they here?! they're preventing me from getting what i want! food food FOOD! i dont want to stay here. i keep checking the clock and checking out of the conversation. how long till dinner's done?
and this whole time im nearly in tears. i need to stop doing this, i tell myself. stop hating. stop being jealous over how and what others are eating. stop racing to shovel food in. stop being so nonchalant. stop looking at the time. stop licking up food with your fingers. stop obsessing. no one made you do this. its your choice, its your choice, its your choice. oh yeah? well than WHY THE FUCKING HELL DOES IT NEVER EVER FEEL LIKE MY FUCKING CHOICE?!?!?!! IF ITS MY CHOICE WHY CAN I NEVER FUCKING WIN?!?!?!?!?!!!!!?????????????????
fuck this eating disorder.
FUCKKKKKKKKKKKK this eating disorder!!!!! FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1
i hate this thing that consumes me! i have fucking fallen into its FUCKING lies again. again again a-fucking-gain i am desperate and depressed because of its whoring control. just FUCK this thing! im so fucking sick of it.
there is an insistent track in my mind that this was and is my choice, it's always been my choice. i look temptation right in the eyes every time, and think to myself, i could say no here, i could resist. but then i still cave. i directly say yes to giving in. FUUCCCK this eating disorder! FUCK IT! i hate it. i hate all the fucking stress it brings to every fucking mealtime. i couldnt even enjoy Erin being home because from 4:30pm this afternoon onward all ive been able to think about is how hellishly hungry i am and how desperate i want pizza NOW. and i dont want two pieces--i want as many as i want to eat. and then with that desire and temptation comes the obsessing, the fucking endless obsessing of every afternoon where i dont have to workout. oh yes, my little fucking mind will relentlessly spend its time consumed with thoughts about that food and whether im going to binge or be good, binge or be good. "nothing lasts forever" "you CAN get through this" "think of the half-marathon" and then during dinner, all i can think about is food and i begin to thoroughly hate my family, hate that they're at the table, in the house. my fucked up, selfish little mind begins whispering a stream of bitter, angry thoughts. why do they have to be here? i dont care about this conversation, i dont care about church or ideas or people or newborns or weddings or gardens. i just want that damn food! why are they here?! they're preventing me from getting what i want! food food FOOD! i dont want to stay here. i keep checking the clock and checking out of the conversation. how long till dinner's done?
and this whole time im nearly in tears. i need to stop doing this, i tell myself. stop hating. stop being jealous over how and what others are eating. stop racing to shovel food in. stop being so nonchalant. stop looking at the time. stop licking up food with your fingers. stop obsessing. no one made you do this. its your choice, its your choice, its your choice. oh yeah? well than WHY THE FUCKING HELL DOES IT NEVER EVER FEEL LIKE MY FUCKING CHOICE?!?!?!! IF ITS MY CHOICE WHY CAN I NEVER FUCKING WIN?!?!?!?!?!!!!!?????????????????
fuck this eating disorder.
Friday, May 10, 2013
it never stops
i am stuck here again. stuck in this fucking eating disorder. stuck. stuck. stuck. choosing to be stuck, yes, yet still stuck.
i cant fucking escape this thing. bulimia you whore, you have overwhelmed my life. i cant move past you, i cant let you go. like a fucking parasite you have latched on and i cannot get rid of you. the harder i try to recover, the harder i fall back into your safety blanket of indulgence. my binges are bigger than ever before, my purging right behind it. gorge, retch, gorge, retch, gorge. it is disgusting and i hate that i am doing this to myself. every time im gagging over the toilet bowl all i can think is how did i get here? why did i ever choose bulimia? why did i ever start purging? i thought i would be able to stop that part of it when i wanted to. but the truth is that purging is essential to any binge, once you have learned it. its the key, the secret to unlocking a blank slate, so to speak, upon which you can shove all your favorite foods onto again. over and over and over. it never has to stop because you never get full.
these binges are so expensive and i feel entirely selfish about how much money i am wasting on food for them. ive spent over $20 in the last two days...and mom and dad have no idea. that hell will need to be paid soon enough, but as of now im just hoping i can bullshit/cover up/deceive my way through having to give account to them for where the cash went.
i hate that i keep choosing to lie to mom (and dad too, in a roundabout way). i want to be honest with them and tell them when i mess up, but i just cant bring myself to be honest. i cant bring myself to look into mom's eyes and say, nope, the entire time you both were gone last night, i was here shoving endless amounts of food into my throat and then i threw it all up in our backyard. im so ashamed of what i do; and even though i desperately want and need mom and dad's help, it also ultimately comes down to my choice. they cannot force me into making the right decision by simply trying to elimiate every possible time for me to binge. if i am determined to do it, i will do anything possible to get my hands on the food. that also ultimately does nothing for my recovery--it doesnt change how i think or approach food, it just changes my outward behavior. i so desperately wish that they could bring me into recovery, that they could somehow structure things enough so that i could never fail. but they cant. its my choice.
oh i just hate this thing so much. my throat is bone dry, even with all the water ive been drinking. im worn out. i feel unable to win. fighting these impluses to binge and purge are beyond stressful and depressing; giving into them is equally so. i dont know what to do any longer. i can feel myself slipping towards depression the more i focus on this. i just dont want to have to deal with it all anymore. i want to be done. i want to be done...
i cant fucking escape this thing. bulimia you whore, you have overwhelmed my life. i cant move past you, i cant let you go. like a fucking parasite you have latched on and i cannot get rid of you. the harder i try to recover, the harder i fall back into your safety blanket of indulgence. my binges are bigger than ever before, my purging right behind it. gorge, retch, gorge, retch, gorge. it is disgusting and i hate that i am doing this to myself. every time im gagging over the toilet bowl all i can think is how did i get here? why did i ever choose bulimia? why did i ever start purging? i thought i would be able to stop that part of it when i wanted to. but the truth is that purging is essential to any binge, once you have learned it. its the key, the secret to unlocking a blank slate, so to speak, upon which you can shove all your favorite foods onto again. over and over and over. it never has to stop because you never get full.
these binges are so expensive and i feel entirely selfish about how much money i am wasting on food for them. ive spent over $20 in the last two days...and mom and dad have no idea. that hell will need to be paid soon enough, but as of now im just hoping i can bullshit/cover up/deceive my way through having to give account to them for where the cash went.
i hate that i keep choosing to lie to mom (and dad too, in a roundabout way). i want to be honest with them and tell them when i mess up, but i just cant bring myself to be honest. i cant bring myself to look into mom's eyes and say, nope, the entire time you both were gone last night, i was here shoving endless amounts of food into my throat and then i threw it all up in our backyard. im so ashamed of what i do; and even though i desperately want and need mom and dad's help, it also ultimately comes down to my choice. they cannot force me into making the right decision by simply trying to elimiate every possible time for me to binge. if i am determined to do it, i will do anything possible to get my hands on the food. that also ultimately does nothing for my recovery--it doesnt change how i think or approach food, it just changes my outward behavior. i so desperately wish that they could bring me into recovery, that they could somehow structure things enough so that i could never fail. but they cant. its my choice.
oh i just hate this thing so much. my throat is bone dry, even with all the water ive been drinking. im worn out. i feel unable to win. fighting these impluses to binge and purge are beyond stressful and depressing; giving into them is equally so. i dont know what to do any longer. i can feel myself slipping towards depression the more i focus on this. i just dont want to have to deal with it all anymore. i want to be done. i want to be done...
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