Well folks, all it takes is 2 inches of snow, the shutdown of an entire city, the recognition of an overuse injury rapidly developing, and a few minutes of free time to reflect and realize I haven't truly accepted treatment for my eating disorder. I have been cutting any and all corners, continuing to destruct, and forcing my boyfriend to hear me purge our homecooked dinner. I cry after, overwhelmed and hopeless, collapse on the couch, and simply give in.
Yes, I have a severe and destructive eating disorder called anorexia nervosa. The end of my snow day yesterday was spent throwing up my measly 300 calorie dinner and any snacks to follow. I am a slave to this routine, no matter how much I think I've accomplished in treatment. I ran 11 miles, walked 4 more, and kept next to nothing down. Where is my dedication and resolve? Where has my motivation and positivity escaped to? Will I ever get better at age 26 with the ability to bend over and empty myself completely, as naturally and effortlessly as breathing or walking?
Today has been no better. I write from the eliptical, having already walked 6 miles, run 4, and binged and purged in the solo-occupancy bathroom at school since everyone else is at home, relishing their second snow day. Tomorrow I am going to wake up and run my 6-6.5 miles before treatment as usual, but I'm not going to drink a diet soda and a 40 ounce Nalgene of hot tea on the drive in, wear 3 shirts and 2 pairs of pants with keys and a cell phone in my pocket for weigh in. I am going to accept whatever results from abandoning my usual routine and start fresh, honest. No more skimping on my 2 tablespoons of butter, choosing the lowest calorie options for all snacks and meals, purging Boosts in the parking lot corner, or projectile vomiting lunch onto the interstate on the drive home. I will come home from treatment, painfully full, but compliant. I may walk the dog for 4 more miles if the weather is nice, to exercise her, not myself, and I will not run or eliptical another mile. I will eat dinner. I will keep dinner down.
I will hate all of these compliant changes, but I will not be actively wasting my money and time in treatment. If I cannot do this, I will lose my boyfriend, my mind, and potentially my life. If I cannot do this, I will accept residential treatment. I cannot stand to live like this while everyone else lives their life at a normal BMI and happily. I'm terrified and I do not know of what. This is low. This is bottom. Nowhere to go but up.
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