This weekend was rough, as you can probably tell from my last post. And that was just the beginning. I am feeling completely slothful, gluttonous, selfish, unmotivated, and utterly wasteful. Waste waste waste. I am kept constant company by waste and shame. The downward spiral has been slowly sneaking up on me, disguised by the brief highs and the weird positivity I referenced in an earlier post. I have absolutely no desire to do even the smallest shred of work, activity, anything that could be considered an accomplishment. It's been a long weekend, and I have managed to do NOTHING. Well, I sure did eat a lot. And had a couple of exceptionally unenjoyable purges. And I'm caught up on practically every tv show on the air, past or present.
I have wasted time, so much time, and not just this weekend. In the life of ED, I have spent so much time bingeing, planning to binge, talking myself into purging, avoiding the purge, and purging. I've wasted so much money on food, on treatment, on medication. I've wasted life, relationships, opportunities. I've thrown so much down the toilet (metaphorically and literally) that I just can't bear to think about it sometimes. The waste that has played partner-in-crime to ED over the past years is staggering. I am acutely aware of just how much waste there is every time I get back into a healthy recovery lifestyle. The time, especially, is what amazes me -- I always have so much of it! What to do, what to do. And it's always like there is a mental haze that lifts, and my energy levels skyrocket, and all of the sudden I'm cleaning my room, organizing my music, completing work that should have been done ages ago, making music, making jewellery, exercising, cooking, reading, and doing everything a normal (sans ED) me finds joy in. But ED weighs me down, mentally and physically, and then weekends go by with hardly a movement from my bed. The depths. Of ED, of anxiety, of depression, of shame.
Here I sit, my throat raw from the purge, my work unfinished from sheer inability to convince my brain to function, my already dwindling bank account overdrawn from treat purchases, and my skin ashen, eyes red, dark circles, all from the stress of the purge and the vast amounts of grease, salt, and sugar I've been pouring into myself. I am a mess. And I don't even know how to describe the mental state. I'm avoiding a purge. Because I really want it to be my last purge.
Tomorrow I have a meeting with my therapist. My last challenge was to get rid of the scale, which I've been quite successful with. I know the next step is to say goodbye to the purge, and to do whatever it takes to make it happen (or not happen, I suppose). I'm terrified. I'm terrified of what it will take, I'm terrified of failure, I'm half terrified of success. What if I give up the purge and the binge keeps happening? ED has been such a huge part of me for so long that it's like ending a really important relationship. Even though it's a completely unhealthy and detrimental relationship, it's still been a consuming one. I don't know how to spend my time without ED, I don't know what to think about, I don't now how to make it through the evening, I don't know who I am. At the same time, who I am has nothing to do with ED and I can't wait to get that little shit out of my life. But right now he's in my brain and I cannot clearly see/remember who I am without him.
So off I go, to the bathroom, to tear at my throat and corrode my tooth enamel and burst the tiny vessels under my eyes and scrape my knuckles on my teeth and strain my back and stare at myself in the mirror with disgust and defeat and disappointment. I want this to be the last one. The fight is being sucked out of me and as the tears roll down my face I am terrified. What if I fail. And what if I don't.
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