6-11

He is leaving today.

I  have not seen him in a month, we have been over for a month. I ceased the texts 4 days ago after he had been telling me that he loves me and that he cannot bear the thought of leaving without seeing me. I declined. Will I regret it? How can I trust the sincerity of his pleas. I wish the circumstances were different, however, as it stands, I have no desire or wish to see him again nor do I have regrets regarding my decision to break up. 

I am beyond broken, hurt, bitter, I still love him and I miss him. I wonder what he is doing now, what he is wearing and I get so heavy hearted but I feel embarrassed by my own unrelenting foolishness. When does the heart cease to love? To ruminate? Is there a switch to turn it all off? God! I am getting better and worse as the days progress. Waves. No progress. Cement.

I don’t know what time his flight is, is he lugging his luggage in a busy airport wearing his black coat with the oversized collar, are we still on the same soil, is he thinking of me. I ended things a month ago. Why should all this matter? It shouldn’t, but it does. I miss him. His warm breath. Our conversations. The snippets of our relationship that I cherished. 

A quietly raging cold wind is settling in the place where he is leaving. I can’t conceal this unhinging of me. My parents are concerned about the state of me. Now they wake up?? I’m so far gone

 I spend the mornings and afternoons angry at him, telling myself he is a low life and that I’m glad I left when I finally woke up. I deceive myself that I am healing and free. I binge and purge to numb the pain. At some point during the day, that wheel of destruction comes to a screeching halt and I am left with the torture of facing myself and my unrewarding reality.

6-11 pm. These are the most difficult and darkest hours of my days. The tears, the flood of emotions, the helplessness. 

It’s 6:07pm and I don’t think I can carry on. But I must. I know I wil but for how long. Something has to give.

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We grow accustomed to the dark

A while has passed since I last wrote, for the most past I have been too weary to write. Recently my life has been full of friendships, meet ups, new activities and stimulating challenges. I haven’t had enough time to sit down and be still. I haven’t had enough time to feel and to think. I am unsure if I have been numb or I’ve stopped hurting… I know I haven’t but perhaps I’ve become accustomed to the dark so much so hurt has become some sort of second skin that I have to live with.

I turned 24 two weeks ago and unlike the previous years, I did not panic or cry I simply took it as is. Perhaps weakness has left my body, I do not know. I cannot explain these emotions or lack thereof.

I have been seeing a guy, it has been an emotional roller coaster to say the least. I have broken up with him more that four times, the whole relationship is marred with obstacles and a grinding halt that is certain and foreseeable. He is of a different race and religion than I am and his family would disapprove and to top that all off our whole union has been a secret and that has been wrecking havoc on my already pitiable self esteem and deadly insecurities. I do not know what to do, I break up with him and he pulls me back in with his elastic binds. He has the sweetest face I have ever seen and I am in the quicksand.

Bulimia keeps raging on and on and it is wrecking more havoc on my face, I look old and used. My skin looks and feels like elastic, I have this permanent dead eyed look in my face. My clothes are all too big so I keep rotating these few items of clothing. I am high on lethargy. This body of mine is spent, my feet seem to be saying this is it we’re done but my voracious appetite for self destruction remains unquenched.

I will make time to blog regularly like I used to, I miss how this feels. The release. I miss laying it all bare.

Unremitting

I woke this morning to a bleeding mouth, with blood oozing out of the perforated roof of my mouth a few centimetres away from my throat. I spat, gargled, silently panicked and applied salt to the wound and waited and waited till it subsided. There is a hole in my mouth, I feel damaged and defeated. 

I have binged and purged an average of 6 times a week for the past 6 months, I don’t know any different. I am still unemployed, I spend the day dangling on the edge and by the time late noon arrives I give in. The binges are much more frenzied, much bigger and the purges are more violent hence the way my mouth, throat and my very being is disintegrating.

I have stopped by to read some blog post here and there, I had forgotten how it feels like home here, there’s this level of familiarity, this rawness that one cannot find anywhere… The struggle we share. I haven’t typed on a keyboard the way I’m doing now, I cannot concentrate my mind is always preoccupied and my bones are restless, watching a movie has become a thing of the past. I am so drained of electrolytes, life and variety so much so lucidity has become a thing of the past. I also seem to have flushed down my ambition down the toilet along with the regurgitated food that is meant to nourish my body.

I simultaneously care and do not care, it’s a delicate balance between having a steadfast grip or fucking it all up anyway. In the constant struggle of standing or moving, doing and the feeble attempts at self-restraint.. I, have forgotten what I was trying to do.

My social life has bloomed in proportion to the manner in which I have been relapsing. It’s hard to fathom, how it can be so. I go out and socialise but it’s always to a minimum and I like my parties/events few and far in between but that’s a start. I haven’t been able to drink alcohol though, I just cannot stomach it, maybe subconsciously it’s tied to my eating disorder.

I’m sort of talking to a man 9 years my senior, he’s the funniest I have ever known. It’s probably not going to go anywhere since he’s only in the country for a few months, I’ll just enjoy the conversations because his presence has been good for my soul.

I’m restricting, like always, I don’t know the way forward. I’m just going to follow this path that carved for myself. The most important thing though is that I have, by any means necessary have to stop purging.

Do Better

I thought a series watching fest with a few biscuits and a few winter chocolates in bed would be splendid but unfortunately I was wrong. I planned out my snack all week actually, I made a date with myself tonight so I could just let go for one night and made sure the portion was one that I could handle but it’s 2:32am now and I’ve been engaging in what I can describe as a dissected binge, eat 3 biscuits then purge and so on and so forth. I’m exhausted, ashamed and just want it to be dawn so tonight’s or rather this morning’s events can fade.

I used to have a cheat day where I could eat anything I wanted on that particular day but would then restrict for the next 6 days. I was good at it for a while.

Dozing off, I’ll do better, if not tomorrow then someday

Nights like this

There are nights when I feel like I might not make it through the night, not because of anything I might do purposely but I feel as though my body will just fail me as I sleep and that will be the end of me. The end of our story- my multiple eating disorders and I. Tonight is one of those nights, I am so afraid of dying and I regret everything. I want to crawl back into my mother’s womb and start again. I feel ashamed and remorseful. I can’t contain myself, my emotions. I’m in bed and I can’t stop crying, the left side of my chest hurts and all I want is to not be alone. I have suffered from eating disorders for half of my life but now something has changed, before there was something teeming inside of my veins, a fire that burned inside of me but now I feel dead and that fire though still present has been reduced to a tiny spark, I’m all out of ideas.

Looking up it’s heart wrenching to see just how far I’ve fallen off the mountain. I’m a mess, my blood pressure must be so low because of the constant purging and that’s not doing my heart/organs any favours. My bag of tricks of crush diets, restriction rituals and all that other nonsense has run out. I’m a liar, a burden, a problem that needs fixing, lovable but you’ll find yourself exhausted from caring about me.

Messy

It’s actually hard to eat when someone is asking you endless questions “You are eating the whole portion right?” “Is it delicious” “Really” “So I should buy more of that” “What did you eat today” etc etc. It’s already hard enough eating AND eating in front of people, just please keep quiet and let me just eat. I hate feeling observed and inspected. Eating in front of people makes me feel exposed and vulnerable. I don’t know how to eat normally so I pace myself, 95% of the time I eat alone and it usually ends in a binge and purge. I don’t know any different.

Today was messy, haphazard snacking, a binge and purge some more snacking and purging… more snacking. I can smell vomit in my nose. I ate dinner, a delicious beef pie. It’s done, I will not be on my knees abusing myself…. not tonight.

Letting Go

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Christopher mckenney - Letting go

“Letting go”- Christopher Mckenney

The notion of letting go reverberates endlessly in my heart. I have so much to let go however, I am that type of person that clings on to every silly thing.

I am trying to let go of bulimia but the more I try to distance myself from it,  the more I seem to find dirt in my finger nails from holding on to it.  We are one, she and I, bound by some force. I needed her then because she seemed perfect, fitting perfectly into my life, my bright idea. I birthed a monster, the darkness that seeps from the cracks is my creation. I can’t carry her with me anymore, she is now significant and seeps into every aspect of my life, that nagging unbearable urge coursing through my veins.

Letting go – My hatred for my father which is a recurring topic on here, I have to let go of my hatred towards him, I despise him with everything that I am and all that I am not. He can’t seem to leave me alone which makes it worse, no amount of tea cups or painfully aggravating small talk could ever make up for all the turmoil he put us through growing up. He still exhibits the same abusive patterns, he is a bitter man who has such disrespect for women, an emotional abuser who thinks he is the victim never mind the knife in my back or the blood on his hands, it makes me physically ill.

I have a long way to go before I can rid myself of all these terrible afflictions and emotions, this toxic waste sitting on my lungs. I have become toxic myself, filled with so much negativity but I’m a hypocrite for not practising what I preach.

Letting go – Someday not today. Bit by bit until there is nothing left to hold on to. I guess.