Anatomy of a Purge

FAIL.

Eating is my trigger.  Food is my trigger.  How is recovery ever going to be possible?

Went out for dinner with my family today.  Ordered the turkey sandwich on whole wheat, with a cup of turkey veg soup on the side.  Ordered it because I wanted it, because it was a good choice, because purging was not an option.  If the purge had been an option, I would have ordered chicken fingers and fries.  Correction: I would have wanted the chicken fingers and fries, but would have begrudgingly ordered the sandwich and soup to keep up appearances for my family. (I'm usually not fooling anyone.  I know.)  The point is, I ordered what I wanted because I knew it would taste good but not trigger a binge/purge.  Partial success.  And yet a complete piss-off, because even while I was eating the tasty soup and just-fair sandwich, I was thinking about a potential binge.  I was daydreaming about a trip to the grocery store and an afternoon of junkfood.

Questions:

• Is it just habit?  I'm still pretty fresh into the no-purge routine, so there are still a lot of habits to break.
• Do my thoughts happen because I've built an association between food and more food?  Am I Pavlov's Dog?  Can I be de-conditioned?
• Were the thoughts triggered, not because of eating, but because I was unsatisfied with what I was eating?  Should I have gone for the fries and then just dealt with the temptation to purge on its own?  I'm supposed to be focusing on the purge, not the binge, so maybe I should have had the greasy meal and forced myself to keep it down?
• How am I supposed to be okay with eating like crap?  I know, it's just two weeks.  But it's TWO WHOLE WEEKS.  
• What is wrong with my brain? 

I didn't go to the grocery store.  I didn't purge.  I didn't binge.  I went home, had a cookie, loved every bite of it, and proceeded to give my room a major overhaul.  I re-arranged furniture, I changed the bedding, I vacuumed, I took out the garbage.  I disposed of all past binge evidence (wrappers, etc), and turned my room into a fresh mental space.  This is a regular part of recovery for me -- I need to clear my life and my head and prepare for a fresh start.  Once everything was clean, I relaxed for a few hours, reading and watching tv, and even nibbling on some licorice.  Mindfully, not chaotically.  Occasional thoughts of bingeing, but nothing out-of-control.

Then it was time to check on the dog.  (I'm house/dog-sitting all week.)  I planned just to let the dog out, feed her, and come back home.  But I felt bad for her, so I decided to stay for a few hours and just make supper there.  After rummaging through the cupboards and fridge to see what needed to be used up, I settled on broccoli and mushroom stirfry with basmati rice.  I genuinely wanted it, knew it would be tasty and satisfying, and was excited to make and eat it.  As I was cooking, things started to fall apart.

The brownie mix that has been on my mind since my first peek in the cupboard started harassing me.  The drawer of chips, the boxes of crackers, the buttery popcorn, and the multiple cheeses begged for my attention.  I considered calling someone, or at least sending a text, to confess my struggling thoughts and ask for help.  But ED didn't let me.  And then it just happened.  The decision was made, the binge began.  I ate the stir-fry, and it was delicious.  I told myself to stop, I had eaten what I planned to eat and that was enough.  But it was futile.  I finished off a bag of plain chips and had a can of pop.  Then I mixed up the brownies and ate most of the batter.

Purge.

I almost talked myself out of it, or at least gave it a good shot.  Told myself I didn't deserve to purge, that I needed to keep it in to feel the grossness of it, to teach myself a lesson.  ED didn't listen to me.  And then, as if I hadn't had enough, I went for round two.  Cracked black pepper Triscuits with Tex-Mex cheese melted on top.  Buttery popcorn with extra butter and cheese melted on it.  Baked the remaining brownie batter and ate the brownies.  Another can of pop.

Purge.

Seriously.  Twice?  In a row?  I HATE YOU, ED.  I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU.

I feel ashamed, guilty, sad, frustrated, upset, broken.  And I would be lying if I said I haven't been thinking about it, anticipating it, dreading it, certain of it, since Friday when I found out I would be house-sitting.  I need to keep writing about it to take away the shame and the dark secrecy, which ED so maliciously thrives on.  It's like I kept justifying it to myself by saying it would be the only time, that I needed to get it out of my system, that I deserved it, like a last cigarette.  And part of me would still like to believe that I did get it out of my system.  Another part of me is thinking about the icing sugar, the milk chocolate chips, and the ice cream.  There, and now they are powerless because I have confessed the thoughts.

I need to keep myself around people, and I need to build up the voice in my head to combat ED, to listen to myself when I think I should call someone, to fight against the underhanded justifications that lead back into the terrible cycle time and time again.  This cannot be a slip, it is just a slip-up.

Words are weaker than love. 

Which is what I have for you.

I love you when you succeed and when you struggle. I never love you less. I accept you as you are. And so should you. Fight the eating disorder but don't hate yourself when you slip.

I'm here. 

♥

Thank-you to my beautiful friend Gitsy, who knew just what I would need to hear.

Long post, and still so much more I could write.  Thank you for bearing with me through all of this.  I figure the more I can flesh out, the better I'll be able to target some cause/effect, and the more ammo I'll have to fight this bastard ED.  Good night for now.  Any positive vibes you could send my way are much appreciated -- tomorrow will be a better day :)