I wasn't going to make a blog about my eating disorder. I mean, I already have a video blog on YouTube so a regular blog might be overkill, right? Though, there are times when I don't really feel like making a video, like right now, but I feel like writing. I'll be upfront- I'm going to be terribly honest in this blog, more so than in my videos. If you have an eating disorder and are easily triggered, I'd encourage you not to read my blog. You probably will anyway, but at least I warned you.
It's beautiful outside right now. The winternight sky is a light purple glow, reflecting the white landscape, while thousands of pine trees are heavily clothed in snow. It makes quite a melancholy atmosphere, or maybe that's just my own feelings being projected on the environment.
I wonder if I can get better. If I can really beat this ED. Sometimes I feel despair because I can't see a way out. The sad truth is I don't want to get better until I reach my goal weight, which isn't that far out of reach. I'm almost there, it kind of kills me to give up on something when I'm so close to accomplishment.
But I'm feeling weaker and weaker. I wake up in the nights feeling disoriented, dizzy, and breathing too slow. The malnutrition is becoming more obvious because a few crackers isn't fixing things like it used to. There was blood in my vomit. My stomach hurts, there's pain in my chest, and yes my hair is still falling out. Maybe a sane person would wonder why this isn't enough to stop my self destruction. I wonder too. I'm not in control anymore. I can't just stop. My ED has become my lifestyle, identity, way of thinking, crutch, coping mechanism. It's colored every area of my life. It's not just stopping a behaviour. The eating disorder behaviour is simply a symptom.
I'm filled with fear. Fear about death. I feel myself dying and I'm filled with a foreboding feeling death is right around the corner. I'm more aware of it's presence in the world. I now know this is what my brother felt all the time, especially at the end of his life. He felt his body giving up and he felt the fear too, fear death was just around corner. And it was for him, which isn't exactly heartening for me.
This morning I had my coffee with eggnog creamer and it was glorious. I made homemade applesauce for my mom and I, and ate that too. It freaked me out though, because that means I had a total of 280 calories this morning and that's more than half of my daily allowance, all before 6am. Eating more than 100 calories at once is challenging for me. It feels unsafe. It feels like I need to purge. But I'm trying to not purge, because I feel it destroying my body. I'd much rather restrict a bit than purge.
I hate that feeling in your gut, that full feeling. It fills me with wild panic. I'm sure I can feel the applesauce forming pools of fat and filling the hollowed spaces between my bones. Even though I know how irrational I'm being, I can't ignore it.
Recovery seems far away today.