From my journal this week, thoughts about the struggle that is recovery:
I binged and purged last night. It was the fat thoughts that got me. I’ve gained about ten pounds and the weight that is supposed to help me is killing me, or at least that’s what it feels like. Thinner, thinner, thinner is all I think about now. Diet hard, exercise. Forget quitting smoking, forget friends and family. Forget writing, forget recovery, forget life. Forget everything but getting thin, back to bones.
All I feel is the flesh of my middle. My legs feel enormous – fat and cellulite-ridden. Imperfect and unworthy.
Everything in my life seems pointless. Nothing is any good if I can’t be thin.
I’m trying to argue, to rationalize, to logic and talk my way out. To try something new. Exercise but to make myself strong and healthy. Keep eating. Visualize Jennifer Lopez’s body – she’s not a stick and she’s the same age as me. Want that.
It’s not working.
I want sticks. I want bones.
The eating disorder thoughts make my anxiety worse which is ironic since anxiety drives the eating disorder in the first place. Increased depression comes next and then feelings of worthlessness which lead back to not liking myself much and calling myself “fat” so it’s off to the mirror again to tell myself, “I love you,” notwithstanding my purchase of low-calorie meal replacement bars to consume in lieu of food, which probably comes under the category of “situational irony”.