I'm back... Hating myself more than ever.
The past few months are a blur of trying to lose... Losing... Gaining... Losing... Gaining. Back and forth to the point where I just want to end things.
If I didn't have my hubby I probably would have by now.
I've realized that I 100% have an eating disorder.
I can't even remember what it's like to be a "normal" eater. Every meal is riddled with thoughts of obsession, counting, measuring, worry, fret, anxiety... Or compulsion, gorging, binging, carelessness... I have no middle ground any more. The eating disorder took it. My normal eating patterns evaporated, and now I don't remember how to do what I once did naturally.
I tried to be "normal" for a while again. Thought, "This time it will be different... This time I will stick to my normal eating. Healthy, normal eating."
I don't even know how to eat normally. I read articles and diets and healthy eating handbooks, and I think, "I can do it." So I buy healthy, normal food options... Options that don't have every single molecule of fat and sugar and flavor sucked out of them... I stock my fridge, I stock my cabinets. Whole grains, nuts, things ana would never allow me. Things that I've eliminated years ago for being too calorie-ridden.
Then I binge on them.
I eat an entire bagel and applesauce for breakfast. I feel like it's too much. I can't eat 285 calories for breakfast. That's horrible. Then I say to myself, "That's normal. You're trying to be normal. 285 is normal." But I can't handle being normal. I don't know how to think normal thoughts about normal food.
And then I give up.
I eat my lunch at 10am, I order take-out with the staff, I raid the vending machine at work, I swing through drive-thrus on my way home from work, I cook fattening disgusting food for dinner, and I feel so bloated and sick and FULL when I go to sleep at night that I want to die.
I sincerely want to die.
I say, "Tomorrow I will REALLY eat normal. Tomorrow I will get it right."
But days go by and my weight creeps back up and rests at 123lbs.
That horrible, hideous number that a couple years ago, I was SO happy to achieve. The numerical order little digit that once brought me SO much happiness now only makes me feel like I want to stick my hands down my throat and literally pull every ounce of food out of me.
I get discouraged. I stop weighing. It's pointless. I know what the scale reads... 123lbs.
"I want to lost ten of them." I always say. Isn't that what every woman wants? To lose ten more pounds?
But it's different with me. I feel incomplete unless I actually lose them. I think about them every moment of every day unless I force the thoughts away and binge.
I start throwing things up. It does no good. Then I just retain water and still weigh the same. Only I look bloaty and feel guilty and mad at myself for getting myself into this in the first place... I decide not to purge. But the binging doesn't stop.
Then I have a melt-down. I realize I can't be normal. I can't ever stop feeling guilty about what I eat... So I decided, once again, not to eat. I've realized it doesn't matter what my behavior is... I'm always hungry.
And I can be hungry and binging and fat or hungry and restricting and skinny. I don't know why I'm hungry or what I'm hungry form but I know food is not filling any gaps. Attempting to eat like a normal person is not filling any gaps.
So here I sit. So ashamed as I write this. Ashamed that once again I tried and failed and honestly a little ashamed I tried in the first place.
I want to feel normal, but I have to realize that I can't be.
I've lost 2 pounds over the past 2 days... I've eaten around 500 calories each day.
This time it's different too. No deadlines, no gimmicks, no tricking myself into losing weight. And no attempting something I'm incapable of... I'm just back to my old routine. The routine that helps me lose weight and makes me feel like if I can't be normal, at least I can be thin.