I've been in a weird identity flux for the past couple of days. Not my outward identity, I think/hope that's pretty stable. (Although some interesting and laugh-worthy career turns lately have really been stretching it.) The identity I'm talking about in this case is the inward sense of self, if that makes any sense. It's a little more than just my mood or thoughts, but rather the sense of who I am, how I feel about myself, and I guess that general perception of me that runs in the back of my mind. Are you lost yet?
The flux (off-kilterness, confusion, disillusionment) is due to my mood vs. my actions. I have been feeling very positive, hopeful, cheery, and all-around fun. This usually happens when I'm in a period of recovery -- when I'm not engaging in ED behaviours. Unfortunately, I am still bingeing and purging. It's rare for me to be this deep into the cycle and experience any kind of true positive emotions. Yeah, I can laugh and smile, but it's not a true happy, because I am constantly thinking about the next binge, and pulled into all the accompanying negative self-talk of depression, frustration, defeat, shame, loneliness, you get the point. But yesterday and today I have noticed myself truly enjoying the life around me, and there's a positive energy in my own mind that has overtones of hope and success. It's kind of like my brain thinks I'm already in recovery but my body has yet to catch up. Kind of. Identity flux.
I'm pretty sure the positivity is coming from this, the act of writing, and all the honest self-analysis that's going into it. It makes me feel like I'm really on a mission, a path, some sort of forward motion that will lead me to a better place.
Now I'm making it seem like it's all roses and smiles in my head, and that's not quite accurate. I actually had to make myself sit down to write tonight - I was not in the mood to think too deeply about anything. I really just wanted to sink into my bed, throw on some tv, and eat the fresh goodies I guiltily and habitually purchased on the way home tonight. So here I sit, comfy in bed, flanked by a half-consumed large bag of bbq chips and a bag of (1/2 price!) v-day Hershey's Hugs. (1/2 price post-season treats are THE best.) I was having a great day, by which I mean I ate healthfully, I didn't have many pestering thoughts about bingeing, and I even got in an exercise session after work. And then the little thoughts started eeking their way closer and closer to the very front of my brain, digging their little pick-axes in and demanding I pay attention.
"You should eat more brownies. They're just sitting there, chewy and icing-dusted, waiting to melt on your tongue."
"Stop pretending you don't want a cupcake. There's an inch of pink frosting on top. How dare you deny me."
"Just go eat the treats. You'll have time for a quick purge before the exercise class."
"You've got a few treats left at home, but you should pick up some more after class tonight because it's cheaper than the grocery store at home. Might as well."
"You know you'll just be angry if you don't get anything, and then you'll have to be super sneaky to make something binge-worthy at home. Better pick up a few things."
"I'M A TUB OF PRE-MADE COOKIE DOUGH. I'M CHEAP. BUY ME AND DEVOUR ME."
These thoughts are perpetual, perpetual, perpetual. Cycling through, bullying any thought that tries to shut it down, wearing out my mind and my resolve. Constant. And seriously, a TUB of cookie dough. I find it hard to believe they exist for anybody other than food addicts. Well bravo, Nestle, for satisfying a demanding market niche. Dicks. I'm happy to say that I successfully avoided the day-time binge, and therefore the work-place purge. But I gave in at Walmart and threw a bunch of junk in the cart (which is now working its way into my trunk). I left the cookie dough on the shelf, out of spite for its very existence. It taunts me, and I just can't reward that behavior.
I haven't written much yet about the actual binge or the actual purge. I can't seem to get my brain to form full sentences about the things which I've kept so shamefully locked away. It's easier to articulate the thoughts leading up to or surrounding the activities than the actual physical acts. I guess that should be a challenge to myself. My recent relinquishing of the scale has been successful thus far, meaning that I haven't weighed in two days. I feel lost without it, like I'm going to gain ten pounds this week, but if it's the one step I can accomplish, I'm holding on to it with vigor. And here I sit with renewed hope despite my current binge and inevitable purge. A change is coming, I feel it.
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