There is something fundamentally wrong with me. I am still awake, taking comfort in food and purging. On autopilot. I feel like an animal. I have this astonishing ability to taint what would have been a good day with my unending misery inducing habits.
Food haunts me. I can’t stop.
I wrote about being trapped by geography for so long. I genuinely believed I could escape my troubles by getting on an airplane and forging a new life.
I am still the same. I am still haunted by the same things. I am still a raging bulimic. I am killing myself slowly. I haven’t healed, I hurt less. My emotions are not as violent as they used to be but I know they are there.
I have nights when I cry till I wrap my hands around my own body and embrace myself. I cannot bear to look at my mum’s pictures. It breaks my heart. Talking to her on the phone. It crushes something inside of me. I can still smell her scent sometimes. I like to imagine her calm disposition. The trips we used to take, me on the passenger seat. Its still so vivid. I carry these memories in my bones and in my heart. I carry it with me.
I do not write as often, writing makes me tap into those dormant emotions. I can feel the helplessness in my hands. I can feel the tension, terror and confusion in my temples. I am not alone nor am I lonely. I am terrified of these avenues. I am terrified of being so broken again.
I am in bed having breakfast. Is this really me.
It is by no means adequate but I am eating nevertheless. The ED patterns are still evident. Dissecting a muffin and eating only the top part whilst leaving out the rest. This is very abnormal but it’s the only way I can do this eating and retaining food thing. I still feel embarrassed when someone looks at me whilst I am eating which is why in public I only consume fluids, less chance of looking like a greedy big hipped gal but eating is good an appetite is nothing to be ashamed of. This is something I need to change.
I still do buy secret food and eat it in my room. Biscuits, lollipops, ice cream. I get anxious if I don’t have a stash even if end up bingeing and purging it. At least I haven’t purged in days, yesterday was an exception, I needed that release and so I did.
I am contemplating eating cereal. I am going into dangerous territory. It’s only still 8am, I don’t wanna go off the edge now.
My appetite is back somewhat, I really have been forcing myself to eat regardless. My weight gain is now so much more noticeable. A dress that used to hang over me is now body hugging and my hips and bum are now protruding in ways that make me realise that I am a woman and its okay to have these things.
My face looks healthy, an eye bag here and there but I look restored. Maybe all this is just the interim, suppose I am too in shock or anxious about what is to come and because of that I am finding it easier to abandon these habits. I break easily when purging and bingeing. Everything is magnified, I lose my senses and disappear in plain sight. I don’t want that. I don’t need that.
Just another day spent on the edge of collapse. Literally. I can’t stop having numerous mini binges and purges throughout the day. The thing is I now can feel hunger, the sensation is no longer foreign to me. The hunger is intense and crippling. At first this was perculiar and thought for weeks I was pregnant. I am not. My body has had enough of this starvation bullshit. I am so sick of this secrecy and seeing this drained, frail, hollow eyed person in the mirror. I am not afraid to gain weight anymore, I can’t believe I put my whole family through hell all these years. I want to eat and keep it down and be happy.
I crave, feel hungry and eat but my problem like all bulimics and binge eating sufferers, is the will power to stop. To stop eating for the love of the good lord. I get it in my head that I can simply eat more then purge and then eat again because yes I have an eating disorder but I also love food, a glutton. I have always been since birth.
Today I did not purge but I did stuff my face with a takeaway and I enjoyed every minute of it. I had dessert too and I am incredibly now hungry now. It feels as though my soul is starving.
Last night I felt uplifted, I jammed some old school rock, watched tv with my family, ate a healthy dinner, hydrated and felt clear headed after a day of fun filled bingeing and purging. For a moment I allowed myself to smile and laugh but it felt so forged, as though I was cheating on my grief.
The boyfriend and I had this… game that we played, we bought it a couple of months into the relationship and it became the activity that was central to our hanging out. A ritual of some sort. We even rushed all other activities when we hung out, even sex just so we could rush and indulge in the thing that we shared this mutual love for, we could talk for hours, never checked our phones, exchanged banter, he would be naked and I wrapped in a sheet, it was incredibly intimate and fun. He was my best friend and boyfriend at the same time.
Last night I asked him what he did with the.. game and he told me that he sold it just before he left and once again, I was hit in the face with the abrupt finality of it all. I swear I heard a gavel strike some hard wood, a door slamming shut and my stomach sank, hands weightless. I cried until my head was pounding and drifted off to sleep.
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.