Tag Archives: recovery

I hate everyone

including myself of course. I hate that every time I try to take a positive step towards recovery I end up feeling worse. I hate that some people never worry about food and calories and weight and I’m stuck in a daily cycle of obsession. I hate that I have to dress up for work instead of wearing baggy sweatpants that hide my insecurities. I hate that my office is so hot; sweating makes me feel like even more of a pig. I hate the people I work with who treat me like I’m disposable. I hate that I’m always still hungry after eating healthy so then I binge and ruin everything. I hate that I never see sunshine. I hate that speaking my mind is frowned upon. I hate relying on people.

I’d love to be happy again.

Advertisements

Blobby

I am such a gross blob. I’m also probably really unhealthy. I skip actual meals but stuff my face with Cheetos and candy. I never ever exercise. And I wonder why my body image is such shit??

I want to change. Obviously I want to lose weight but also I don’t want to end up with like diabetes or something like that. But ED has had me trapped in this binge-restrict-binge cycle for so long that I don’t know any other way of being.

I want to trust that my body will even out and my weight will stay stable bc even tho I won’t be restricting I also won’t be binging. But what if it doesn’t even out until I’ve gained 10-20lbs? Can I accept that as my new normal?? I honestly don’t think so.

But god how much more energy would I have if I was healthy and didn’t spend so much time obsessing about food and calories and weight.

Brains

The worst part about being a well-educated person with an ED is I know how goddamn stupid it is. I know that heavy restriction will eventually lead to binging and regaining the weight, and I know I’m losing mostly muscle and gaining mostly fat, and I know I’m probably less metabolically healthy than a lot of people with 40lbs on me, and I know eating 500cals of fat-free candy is actually worse than eating 800 cals of real food cooked in olive oil, and I know that purging won’t get rid of all the calories, but I can’t shake the need to engage in these behaviors. I understand that it’s not physically possible to gain 10lbs of actual fat overnight, but that doesn’t make me obsess over the possibility any less. I acknowledge that my weight is less than that of most Americans, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling like the fattest personality in the room. And then I feel stupid and ridiculous because I know that I can educate myself all I want but it won’t matter because ED isn’t logical or rational and doesn’t care how smart I might be. Worse yet, I know that eventually ED will take my mind too because the brain doesn’t care what size my pants are if that means it doesn’t get the nutrition it needs, but ED is just the opposite.

I’m too old for this shit

After like seven years together, my shrink is moving to St. Louis. She wants me to get set up with someone new before our last appt next month. But I don’t want to. I’ve been doing this shit for half my life, and I am fucking tired of it. I’m so goddamn tired of caring so much about the numbers on the scale and on my pants. I am so goddamn tired of my self esteem being inversely correlated to the number of calories I eat each day. I’ll begrudgingly call my PCP’s office and ask for a referral a few days before I see my shrink for the last time only because I need someone to keep writing my prescriptions. But I don’t want to start over working through my issues. I don’t want to start over trying to be happy when it’s February and I haven’t seen the sun in a week and I’m eating a pint of Ben & Jerry’s for lunch. I just want to be a fucking normal 30 year old. I’m too old for this shit. 

Science

I often wonder if scientific exploration of EDs do more harm than good. Like I know I sometimes exhibit traits of Aspergers, but getting an actual diagnosis of an intellectual disorder like that would cause my self esteem to plummet. I need to think I’m normal with some minor issues; anything else sends me into a spiral of hopelessness. I often imagine my “normal” coworkers talking about my craziness and it makes me want to be more stringent in my eating so as to at least have control over something in my life. I actually bought diet pills the other day in the hopes of losing 5-10 lbs – hoping that if I can at least get my weight on track I can play like I have my life on track. I don’t know how to get out of this spiral. Help?

Breakthrough?

So I think I had a bit of a breakthrough today, or at least made some progress. I was craving something sweet so I made a mug cake (single-serve dessert!), and I even added ice cream because it honestly makes most things better. But about ¾ of the way though I realized I didn’t want anymore and I THREW IT AWAY. What?! I’m always one of those people who feel super guilty wasting food (but somehow it’s not wasting it if I eat it and puke it up??), so it was a big deal for me to not force myself to finish. Go me!

Lost

Sometimes I want to recover. Sometimes I want to say “fuck it” and eat whatever I want without thinking about fat or calories or any of that. Sometimes I eat dessert, and then want another dessert so I have something else. Sometimes I think I look “good enough” and consider just buying larger pants. 

But sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I can’t imagine giving up control of my diet. Sometimes I can’t bring myself to eat even 1000 calories in a day. Sometimes I feel immense guilt for not working out. Sometimes I look in the mirror and hate everything I see. Sometimes I can’t even wear a normally-fitting t-shirt, never mind something form-fitting. 

So what do I do? Am I making progress? When I think of 10 years ago, bawling on the phone to my girlfriend because I couldn’t make myself eat some peas after fasting for four days, I think I’m doing much better. When I think of where I was nine years ago, binging and purging over a dozen times a day, I think I’m almost normal. But when I think of 13 years ago, before I ever started “dieting,” I think I’m pathetic. 

Maybe I’ll be actually recovered in another ten years. Hopefully I make it that long.