Sunday, November 10, 2013


I never know when I'm going to find myself writing on this blog again. God knows I've had plenty of opportunities and things to talk about. However, I'm finding it easier and easier to keep my thoughts in my head where they might fester. It feels safer like that. Less real maybe. If I write what I'm really thinking or feeling here or via YouTube, it suddenly manifests itself as reality and who wants to face that?

Ignore my ramblings, my friends, or whoever finds their way to my  blog. I've had a rough weekend, and it really shouldn't of been. I went to a friend's bachelorette party. It was just the four bridesmaids and the bride, staying the night in a double queen deluxe room at a notoriously fancy and distinguished hotel. We went to the The Lounge to sip a glass of wine during happy hour. Awkward silence gave way to polite conversation, and eventually truly enjoyable banter. One bridesmaid had just gotten back from living in the mountains of Colorado, working with wolves which was fascinating to me (I might have a slight obsession with wolves). 

We went to a pub-like restaurant and we were all feeling comfortable with each other at this point. I decided to treat myself and get something I've not had for years- a cheeseburger with sweet potato fries and a mixed drink cocktail- huckleberry mint. I was happy, I really was...but I waffled down my food like I had never tasted anything so delectable before. Those familiar feelings of panic and overwhelming FULLNESS, equating to fatness, took over. I felt as though I might throw up- no, I WANTED to. Anything to not feel like this.

I excused myself to the bathroom and leaned over the toilet. At first, that's all it took to get some food out. I was naturally throwing up, right? I fooled myself. I was trying to purge. But everything wouldn't come up with such little help, especially after abstaining from purging for over 11 months. I committed to it, letting the panic control my actions. Just a finger for just a second, it didn't take much. And then I couldn't stop. I had to get it all, now. Out out out, leave me please. I can't handle you, food. You're too much. I'm too much.

I sat back down with the other girls. Guilt. What had I done? I had been holding out for so long so I could say I've been purge free for a whole year. Why did I give up on a whim, one month from my goal?

Self hatred is hard to hide from. I knew I'd have to tell my husband. We're a team now and we don't keep secrets. I wouldn't do that to him. I asked him to pick me up in an hour. I guess he knew something was up. 

We went back to our hotel room. We had champagne and talked about sex. I gave my advice as well as the only other married woman present. I downed a few glasses which normally would have just made me tipsy. Maybe being dehydrated and empty of food did a number on me. I found myself having an out of body experience only someone highly intoxicated can relate to. I couldn't walk straight. I found myself saying odd drunken thoughts out loud and most likely sharing way too much information. My bride friend walked me down when Ryan arrived, with what I later realized was a concerned look. 

I got in his car and from that moment on, felt and probably acted hysterical. I confessed I'd purged. I just cried and cried, asking if he still loved me, saying I was sorry over and over again.

I woke up this morning with a headache and incredibly sore throat. Ouch. 

Where do I go from here? It hurts to think about it. I hate myself for messing up. I've berated myself all day, and most likely for the rest of the week. I don't want to go back to purging, and I don't think I will. I'm just sad I let it back in, even if just for a night.