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.
I met up with my friend today so we could go to a casting. I was wearing layers and layers of clothing and the moment she saw me she called me fat, she said I had gained weight. Her exact words were “omg why are you fat now”. WTF. In all fairness she didn’t say it with malice… I think, she knows nothing about my eating disorder but honestly that was a very shitty thing to say. I just laughed it off and said Noooooooo and pretended to be Unbothered but since she uttered those words I’ve been feeling awful and resentful.
I came back home and weighed myself, my weight is still the same but it doesn’t change how disgustingly big I feel now. I measured myself frantically. I’m distracted and angry. I love my friend dearly we’ve been through worse lot together these past few months but right now I really dislike her and her barrage of snide comments.
I didn’t do well at the casting because my walk was atrocious, I suddenly began to feel my bits jiggling because of what was said to me. I got in a haze and that shred of self confidence I had flew away. I starved myself tonight, I’m better than that. I’m not 14, comments like that shouldn’t sway my decisions about eating food or not eating food thereof but here I am awake at 1:30 hungry, headache-y, angry, fat and just generally exhausted. I hate people sometimes
Stepping on a scale before deciding whether I’m worthy of my dinner or not, I feel ill… got a stomach ache from this week’s incessant purging, nauseous and in need of something salty. I know not having a proper dinner will only end up driving me insane from weird cravings later.
My brother is cooking and the fusion of food smells is driving me crazy and not in a good way.
Fuck it, I’ll eat a pastry thingy… I won’t die and my waistline won’t expand overnight.
Yesterday I went to the doctor, my medical aid finally got sorted so now I can see our family GP who has been treating me for years. He is a really chatty man but a brilliant doctor. Anyway I got there they weighed me and took some blood for some tests and I was told that I need to gain 15kg which I found shocking as I am hardly underweight but he said I should at least gain 5kg for now and I just sat there bewildered.. Doesn’t this man have eyes, I DO NOT need to gain 15kg. This isn’t coming from some anorexic in denial, I have been suffering from EDs for a long time and I have passed that denial stage and can recognize when I am underweight or not and actually admit it to myself. With that being said I still don’t have a perception of what I actually look like which seems like a paradox but when I am underweight I can recognize it now.
He filled out a prescription for my stomach issues caused by the purging but I didn’t tell him that of course. I wanted to confide in him about my depression but the words stuck to the back of my throat, my big depression secret remained hidden behind my teeth, I could not spit it out but God knows I wanted to. The more he talked and asked about my studies, my brother and all that stuff you talk about with the doctor who’s been treating you for years… the more he talked the more I lost my nerve to tell him and I knew couldn’t have been able to fully express my depression and I would probably have ended up seeming like I was blowing things out of proportion, I am always so articulate on here about my afflictions but in real life in front of someone who has the tools to help me, I rehearsed what I could say in my head but I couldn’t string a sentence that could’ve summed up the sad state I have been in and how much I have been struggling.
I left and picked up my prescription then came home had one of my strange “OMG OMG” episodes where I become acutely aware of my reality and feel like I want to climb out of my skin. To cope I binged and purged and after a while I calmed down and this wave of “it’s gonna be okay” swept over me, pity it didn’t last long.
I out the blue decided to measure myself today so I stripped naked and dug out the tape measure buried in my underwear drawer, I was hesitant naturally and kept thinking to myself I didn’t have to do this because it would break my heart but I went ahead anyway. I have lost a couple of centimetres on both my hips and my waist and this is the result of purging. Some days you’re lucky you purge most of what you binge then you restrict some days you aren’t so lucky, your body will refuse to purge or environmental circumstances will prevent you from purging properly and you’ll retain the food and it’ll show.
Bulimia requires dedication, if you are going to binge then your purging has to be vigorous or else you’ll gain weight no doubt, most times I never purge everything out though I’d want to but I don’t want to push my luck. Those final desperate panicky shoving of fingers down the throat when purging could be what could kill me, like playing guitar on the same old fragile strings that could break at any point in time.
I have never mentioned this before partly because I have never wanted to accept it myself because it’s too frightening but my paternal grandmother died of throat cancer. Surely I am tempting fate perpetuating this horrid act of purging when I have read stories of bulimics who got throat cancer. There is history of throat cancer in the family, studies claim bulimia causes throat cancer, I am at a high risk of getting it even without bulimia because of genetics but here I am. In a way I think that type of thing would never happen to me, I feel so far removed from it all but it’s reality and it’s there and it won’t change.
I feel sick to even type this but days ago I got so tired of carrying on with life with all these burdens on my back I started to visualise what it would feel like to die and how exactly I would do it, the idea of drowning seemed appealing to me and in my imagination I was this ethereal being drowning in the bluest waters and I thought to myself how amazing it would be to just let go and leave all the sorrows behind, the mere thought filled my eyes with tears.
Some people aren’t meant for this world, I know I am not but being conscious of that fact doesn’t mean that I should just check out because I am here and here is now… here demands to be lived and felt, I owe it to myself and to the almost 23 years that I have wandering on this earth. I just wish I could heal from depression, it sucked out all the colour and it didn’t stop there it seeped into every aspect of my life to the point of it being that third person in a relationship.. any kind of relationship with a friend, a parent, a (potential) boyfriend or anyone really. Some have walls from being hurt that prevent them from entering into romantic relationships some of us have mental illnesses. I can’t imagine letting someone into my empire of dirt. What do I have I have to offer besides bullshit jokes, there might just be a thing such as being too unhinged for romance.
I wonder how much space a human heart can have given as I harbour all of the emotions. It gets tiring trying to radiate sunlight when you communicate with positive people, you can’t just be your usual depressed self because they will leave but that forced happy exterior is a major façade that you cannot keep on for long before you have to expose yourself for who you really are and then you depreciate right in front of their eyes or despite all your flaws and imperfections they love you regardless. I hope that one day when the time comes to tell the one I will come to adore of the cocktail of mental illness that plague me, I just hope they’ll choose to stay.
Last week or was it last week but one I went to my dentist appointment but before I could even sign in at reception I looked around got scared and disgusted then bolted, I power walked down the hall then ran down the stairs as if someone was running after me and if they caught me they’d grab my arm tell me that I couldn’t leave then drag me down the hall and fix my teeth by force.
Today though I gathered courage and went to a nicer and cleaner dental clinic, my medical aid isn’t the best package out there so I can’t be picky. Because my decision to go was so sudden I didn’t make an appointment so I was in the waiting room for 4 hours then finally it was my turn. It was almost painless, they did something to fix my bleeding gums but surprisingly my teeth are OK. After all these years of being bulimic there are only minor problems with my teeth that can be easily fixed.
The anesthetic effect has just worn off, I can still taste blood but can at least drink coffee and have ice-cream. Didn’t have a good “body day” today, I feel massive… even more than usual. Sitting down and looking at my hips I just wanted to run home and binge. At midnight the ice-cream, biscuit and chocolate eating stops, clearly I haven’t been purging all I’ve been bingeing on.
Thursday morning, I haven’t seen 6:30am in a long time. I have stopped crying but my head is pounding. I feel calmer but that sort of calmness that can be deadly but I am unbothered, sort of numb but not quite.
I hesitantly wear my dark blackish-grey jeans I haven’t worn in months, I am terrified of jeans. I button them up they feel bigger, they are drooping and I refuse to wear to wear a belt I want to SEE the creases were my flesh once occupied but no longer there. The serial weight fluctuator that I am wants to feel it for it will not last long.
I grab my textbooks… I refuse to go digital, books should be tangible and felt not stored in some device. My bag is heavy and I know my shoulders will pay for this later. Food doesn’t interest me… not on this particular morning at least. On an empty stomach feeling so glorious and empty I head out the door and it feels like am been set free (well only momentarily) from this house of horrors, when the day ends I will be back here again to the unforgiving tedium. The rage. The hurt and and and.
No crying tonight lest my head explodes, no sad songs or tears on my pillow. The lorazepam is still unopened, it makes it worse like the downward spiral is drawn-out and much more profound, the drowsiness, forgetfulness leave much to be desired. In a sort of masochist kind of way I’d rather remain present while I go through the motions of depression/anxiety.
My body is spent from all the walking while I was on a birthday present hunt, I almost fainted before jumping into the bus- so classy. My shoulders ache from slouching on a desk studying for hours. Tonight I’ll sleep soundly, that I know for sure. It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay.