Fear of becoming mom

My intake today was 300 calories. I got so busy at work I honestly didn’t even think about eating. I feel like being hungry makes me sharper. More aware. Work faster. I pumped out all the necessary things so quickly. It was effortless.

My doctor prescribed me a new anxiety med yesterday. I hope it works. It’s not a daily use drug unless you decide to utilize it that way. He also gave me some Xanax that I immediately hid. I am ready for this. I’m ready to take something and feel better. I’m ready to stop being so anxious all the time and allow modern medicine to help me with my mental health.

I realized today that my biggest fear in life is becoming my mom. And I’m sure I’ve stated that on the pages of this big before, but I didn’t realize until recently how much of my life has been built around that fear and the avoidance of becoming anything like her. I have strived to be the opposite of her since childhood. I communicate. I work. I stay busy. I wanted kids and a husband, yes, but I’d didn’t ever want to do things the way she did. I don’t think she did things wrong, persay. I just always saw her so UNHAPPY, and never doing a thing to change it, and I vowed somewhere in my subconscious eons ago never to ever be like her. I vowed that I wouldn’t spend half my life in bed crying and the other half holed up in my house feeling anxious.

I have this vivid memory of my mom in the yard with us as kids. We had moved into the home they’re in now only a little before, and the land was still muddy from clearing. We were outside playing with kites. She strung one up into the air and ran with it. Not far. And not well. She had greasy hair and baggy pajamas on and ran clumsily and jiggly. She was smiling and got out of breath very quickly. We made eye contact, and I smiled.  But inside I felt a wave of sadness. I remember hoping it didn’t show in my eyes. I was sad because I could see her in that moment trying to be normal. She was trying to be a mom who played with her kids. Who ran. And she wasn’t good at it. I remember thinking it was the only time I ever saw her run. Ever. I’m not sure if I ever have since. She wasn’t good at running, and she wasn’t good at being normal. I remember thinking that soon enough she’d be back in bed depressed, so I should try to enjoy this brief moment while it lasted.

I was 11.

My mom had severe issues my whole life that she  never worked on. Never resolved. And still won’t. We had a conversation last week because her doctor wants her to go to therapy. She won’t. She won’t try. And we all suffered because of it. I did. My dad did. My brother did. And sometimes we still do. And it gets carried over into our people now. My husband has suffered because of it. Any my brothers’s girlfriend.

 I used to fear that I would be like her. It was literally my biggest fear. I used to hate when people said I looked like my mom, not because she was fat or ugly, but because I didn’t want to be anything like her. She was miserablr. I still fear being like her.. I look back at photos before I was born and before my brother was born, and everything seems good. And I wonder if it really was, or if she was already depressed and crazy. I wonder if it got worse later. And I wonder why she didn’t do anything at any point to take care of her mental health.

I fear I will do the same to my kids. That I’ll be a fully functioning person now, but somewhere along the way, something will break and I just won’t fix it. That’s why I am so determined to get rid of my anxiety. And to get thinner, because I know being overweight makes me depressed.

I can’t become my mother.

Fat

600 calories today.

I’m. So. Fat.

The scale is dropping rapidly, but nothing could ever be fast enough.

I just want to be thin.

Agoraphobic feels

Breakfast: egg whites, fake cheese, English muffin: 180cals
Lunch: popcorn and pumpkin: 140cals
Dinner: binge and purge

My shoulder is very messed up, and I started my period today, so I’m not in a good mood. I was struggling to take care of the baby and not getting anything else accomplished today. He was very clingy and wouldn’t even let me leave the room he was in and would barely let me put him down. I didn’t even step outside, though I agonized about the fact that I should take a walk for basically hours... In the end, the verdict was I didn’t have the mental strength to do it, and I made a nest of pillows and blankets on the living room floor. We played all day and cuddled and napped. It was a good day aside from my binge and purge and my anxiety that is staggeringly bad lately. Every day that passes is a day closer to Wednesday and my doctors appointment and the hope that he’ll prescribe me the meds I want to help with it. I’m literally praying every day that it’s not a huge ordeal, but I’m so scared it will be.

I need to get stricter about my rule following. I keep having eff it moments that I instantly have to fix. Because I’d rather purge than digest. Every time I break a rule lately, I think about how FAR I have to go and how if I let this meal digest, it just keeps me another day further away from happiness. Then it’s not even a question of purging or not. Today’s purge was easy, thankfully. But I still don’t like doing it and wish I could just starve. It’s always a part of my cycle - at first I struggle and purge a lot, and then I get better and starve better and purging is only for emergencies. I am trying to get to that point as soon as possible, because lately purging has been almost daily.

Being fat is making me very unhappy. And I know my husband is suffering for it. He’s tired of hearing me whine about it and have moods over it. I know that. I don’t think he actually minds the way I look right now, but I definitely do. It’s very clear that I’m bigger than ever, and he’s made a couple of comments to that effect. Not mean ones or critical in any way, he’s just said a couple things that make me realize he clearly sees I’m basically at the heaviest I’ve ever been right now. It’s actually tied for my highest weight.

That thought makes me want to shoot myself.

I discovered on Amazon tons of ED television that’s included in my Prime membership. I watched one documentary today, and I’m about to watch another. It always seems to be a huge part of going back to weight loss for me - ED books and movies and documentaries. I also get obsessed with models and ballerinas and devour content on those things instead of actual food. It’s a great distraction until bedtime when I can take my Benny and drift off to sleep.

And now, I’m off to do that. Think thin.

I could die

They’re always there. Just behind the outside corners of my eyes. The tears. Waiting to spring forth like a bursting dam. Wanting to flow like river rapids. But I perceptually dam them up.

I always feel as if I would be ok if I died. I always feel just a little suicidal. I always have. Some days I think of how I could do it, and some days it’s just a passing thought. But if I were to answer the question, “what keeps you from killing yourself?” the answer would be, “Obligation,” long before it was ever, “Because I want to live.” I think I have always been ok with the thought of death. I’ve always thought it would be a relief. Not to feel badly anymore or perpetual exhaustion. Even if there’s nothing after this life, I think I’d be content with just not existing anymore. A final unsanctimonious, anticlimactic “poof” would be perfectly fine with me. I’d revel in that just as much as the thought of some glorious heaven. To rest forever would be just as ideal.

I only ate a piece of chicken and a serving of vegetables today. I had a terribly rough day at work where no one agreed with me, but I stand firm in my decisions. My husband said I make my own rules too often. He’s right. I’ve never been good with rules.

I miss my hypomania right now. I could use a dose.

Missing my ex ladies

Sometimes I miss it... the full blown ED.
I miss Ana. I miss Mia. I miss the reckless abandonment with which I pursued them.
Now, they’re like my ex’s...
I can think back on the thin times with longing for my old body, but also see how bad my life was at that time. I was so depressed. So fraught with sadness and longing for real intimacy with anyone. I was completely alone except this blog and my ED. I didn’t know life could or would become actually pretty good  for me.
I know I’m a little unhappy right now in my life, but it is nothing compared to what I once was.
And I’m honestly a little foggy on if the ED preceded the depression, or if the depression preceded the ED.
I don’t actually know if it makes me feel better or worse when I engage in the behaviors.
I don’t know if I was doing it because I was sad or if it was making me sad to do it.
But I feel myself on the edge of testing to see for myself.
I want to starve again.
I want to take crazy laxative combos and not eat and throw up the amounts I do. I want to count calories and work out til I’m about to faint. I want to weigh myself every morning and feel the rush when a pound comes off. I want to obsess about what I eat and have rules and lists. I want to lose drastic weight quickly and with a pit churning in my stomach the entire time. I want my clothes to get too big and my head to feel dizzy and people to comment on how I look. I want to indulge with Diet Coke and hot tea and looking at photos of thin girls online.
And I can.
I have the time and money and freedom and lack of supervision that it takes to really starve.
I just need a plan and some willpower.
Lately I’ve been doing ok with it. I have lost some and kept it off...
But I want more. I want to do it all again. This time not because I’m sad and attention seeking, but to actually enjoy my body. To have my husband enjoy my body. To feel better. To control better.
Am I allowed this journey again?
Am I allowed the manic evenings with no sleep, the hundreds of thrown up meals, the hours at the grocery store reading every package, the faking that I ate meals and avoiding food at all costs? Am I allowed to be concerned about my toward appearance so much that I devote all my remaining youthful energy to adjusting it? Am I allowed to be that shallow and vain? That nearsighted and unrealistic?
Because I really really really want to be.