Eating little sweet chocolaty snacks in bed while on my laptop is probably one of my favourite things. Today though instead of nibbling on something sugary and then enduring the bitter aftertaste of self loathing that comes after, I instead ate a small apple. When I wake up tomorrow I won’t wake up feeling guilty, it’ll be just another Sunday.
I have no plans to buy binge food this week no sir, I won’t wait for midnight on Monday night just so I can open a packet of biscuits and feed my fat. I have no snacks in my room which makes me feel panicky but relived at the same time. It’s funny how you can look forward to a scheduled binge all week and create this big build up to “the event”, before the binge you’re in the this euphoric haze but as soon as the discomfort/fullness sets in which is about 10 minutes later the food will literally mean nothing. It is always the moments after bingeing when it most feels like it’s not worth it but a purging session later and you’re ready for round 2 which is difficult to comprehend as to how your brain works.
When I think of the time when I was about 16 I never ever ever thought I’d still be struggling with an ED at 22. Twenty-two seemed like some far off place, I have always known the severity of my disorder but the chronic part of it never really registered until I was about 18, I spent the years before in absolute denial and thought I was okay and everyone was crazy & in the way of my pursuit of thin. The fact that I really needed help and wasn’t okay cemented itself in my mind when I was about 19-20 when I had my 3rd anorexia relapse. I will never be anorexic again and this is a firm declaration, I almost died and I will never forget when the doctor told me that my blood pressure was so low that it could compared to that of a person in a coma- he looked at me and asked how it was possible that I was actually walking.
I now have to stop with the bingeing and purging, dying from an electrolyte imbalance induced heart attack or from rupturing your oesophagus is not a good way to go, is the need to rid of that packet of biscuits or muffins worth dying for? That’s what I ask myself when I am purging and I throw up blood but can’t seem to stop. It’s shocking how I am no longer fazed when I purge blood but a few weeks ago it would freak me out and I would post about how scared I was, it makes me wonder what it is I am searching for? Surely it’s not death, maybe there’s a part of my subconscious that doesn’t want to be here anymore and that’s why I keep engaging in these behaviours – but those are all bullshit thoughts that came up when I was furiously doing the dishes. I really do want to be here… not here here because I’m dying to leave but I really do want to be alive and well.