Been going around in circles of the same emotions. Denial…acute realisation…hurt…band aid…denial and so on and so forth. I have nothing new to say. My hands have been busy either stuffing my face or purging. What did these hands do before they learnt of bulimia, what meaningful purpose did they serve and I wonder what would consume my mind if it wasn’t always filled with thoughts of surfeiting myself, weight, hunger and fear. My conscious is clear, I am actively perpetuating these dangerous bulimic behaviours and I have no regret. Purging makes me feel alive and it relieves tension as well, it’s those endorphins that bind to opioid receptors and apparently purging releases these endorphins which explains the state of feeling high, in that way purging can become a physical addiction.
My bed hasn’t been made in two days. Last night however, I did experience moments of euphoria then by bed time it all came crushing down. Tomorrow I have a day out planned out for myself, anything to escape this house for a few hours and to be honest escape myself as well for a little while.