Here comes the bride, all FAT and WIDE.

I’m getting married in 18 days! I had my bridal gown fitting, and I’m psyching myself out. I tried it on, and the dress itself is beautiful. I’m blessed to own it. But I still felt like a beached whale. Even worse, my boobs don’t fill out the bra cups, so I’m having to put EXTRA padding in. In my mind, curves, breasts, a bum (all normal features that women were pre-destined to have) equal FAT, GROSS, LUMPY. I don’t want to feel fat on my wedding day.  I don’t want to look in the mirror and be repulsed by what I see.

There’s so much pressure to look your absolute best on your wedding day.  All these pointless details: “Who’s doing your hair??”, “What will your makeup look like??”, “French nails, or nude??” I loathe it. Who the hell cares?! LEAVE ME ALONE. All that matters is that I’m marrying a man who loves me unconditionally and thinks I am beautiful no matter what. A man who would still be waiting for me at the end of the aisle if I weighed 800 pounds (so he says). I’m trying to remember that this is all that matters. But what’s wrong with the world? Literally.

One potato, two potato.

I love sweet potatoes! Mmm, mmm, mmm. I just ate two of these bad boys. My tum-tum is very happy with me.

After my great Thanksgiving-feat, I really fell of the bandwagon (with binging and purging). I woke up this morning SO depressed. I literally couldn’t get out of bed; I had to call in sick to work. EDs suck. I’m feeling better now, and I’ve eaten breakfast, lunch, AND dinner today. Yay, me! I’m saying F*** YOU to the bulimia today. I will not be controlled by my urges tonight. I am going to go to mass, talk to Jesus, and come home. I’ll plan for my speech therapy kiddos for tomorrow (with a nice cup of tea) and watch an episode of the best show ever (the Office) to wind down. I will brush my teeth, wash my face, and moisturize my skin. I promise my body that I will be kind to it this evening. I am striving to earn my body’s trust back, and day one starts right now.

Thanksgiving Results

Hi friends! Happy Thanksgiving. Hope you all had a restful Turkey Day.

Eating disorders ruin holidays. This is certain. Constant thoughts about food, comparing plates and body types, and mindless and/or over-calculated eating have been a main event at my holiday gatherings over the past 4 years.

This Thanksgiving something miraculous happened. I did not binge, purge, or restrict. Sure, the unbearable thoughts were there and every bone in my body wanted to revert to my disorder. I did not succumb. I kicked this Thanksgiving’s ass. I made it my bitch (pardon the language). I am so proud. I still feel like a fat ass and I still want to shrink into nothingness. But I know that this desire is futile and that the voice in my head is a liar.

It has been FOUR YEARS. Four years since I had a behavior-free Thanksgiving. This is a huge step in the right direction for me. I hope I can keep this streak going. Here’s to nourishing our bodies on a day meant to celebrate life and love.

Wendy.

My fiancé and I had a Sunday evening date night. We got a bottle of wine, Chinese food, and began watching the second season of Stranger Things. About half way through my meal I became immensely anxious and all I wanted to do was purge. Jay noticed my discomfort; he looked at me lovingly and asked if I was alright. All I had to say was “food thoughts” and he knew what to do. He silently paused the show and pulled me close to him.  Jay said, “Can I tell you a story?” I nodded and closed my eyes as he held me, trying to open my mind and heart to what he had to say.

His story was about out first child, Wendy. He told me that in 16 years, Wendy will come home from school after a hard day.  She will be in tears and come running to her mother. Her mom (future me) will ask what is wrong and Wendy proceeds to tell her about the girls at school who were mean to her. The girls told her how she should be thinner and asked why she’s not on a diet like they are.  Wendy feels self-conscious and far from beautiful. Through her tears, she asks her mom what she needs to change about herself and her body so that she can be loved and accepted.

My fiancé continued, telling me that future Dee will hold her fragile daughter, and tell Wendy that she knows exactly how she must be feeling. Dee will reassure Wendy that she herself has felt the crushing blow of feeling inadequate. She will tell her daughter, not holding back, about her struggles with accepting herself and her own body before Wendy was born. She will tell Wendy that she is a daughter of Christ, that we must find out identity in HIM. Others put their worth in physical appearance, rather than their worth and value to God, who loves us all unconditionally and more than we could ever imagine.  Dee will tell her daughter that she is beautiful, irreplaceable, and perfect in mind, soul, and body. Dee will hold and comfort her daughter, reassuring her that it is possible to go through these struggles and come out the other side. Her mother knows this because she has lived it and conquered these demons. Wendy knows she is loved in this moment and always, by God and by her mother. She knows that she is perfect the way she is and feels at peace in her mother’s embrace.

I am eternally grateful to the man who told me this story. All I could do was cry when he was finished. We all bear crosses in this life, and my story is far from over. I will carry my cross for those I love. I will strive to beat this — each and every day.  I want so badly for this story to come true. I know that it can come true.

Burritos turn me into a bitch.

So I’m trying this new thing where I allow myself 2 days out of the week that are “binge/purge” days. I’m doing this in order to taper down the amount of times that I binge and purge throughout the week (which is 6-7 times at the moment). Sooooo, Tuesday and Thursday were deemed those days where I am allowed to do these behaviors.

Yesterday (Thursday) afternoon, I went to the grocery store. I picked up a bag of frozen burritos and two candy bars for my disordered “treats” later on. I called Jay afterwards to let him know I was on my way home. He had a head cold — so, I came straight home to take care of him and love on him. I’m such a champ at nourishing other people and taking care of those I love. It’s a quality about myself that I really do love. So I made him tomato soup and toast with hot tea, picked him up a netti pot (for his sinuses), and got him his favorite candy.

Literally, though, the whole time we were laying around watching movies, guess what I was thinking about? “When will he go home so that I can EAT MY FREAKING BURRITOS”? But he wouldn’t leave…so I told him I was tired (at 8o’clock) and was going to bed, hoping he would peace out. Jay said, “I think I’ll just lay on the couch for a while”… NOOOOOOOOO (I NEED YOU OUT OF HERE) *said my eating disorder*.

The good news is that I went to bed, laid down, and fell asleep. Sure, it felt like torture. And I hated myself for being so cold to Jay before I went to sleep. I was a cranky bitch who just wanted a bag of burritos. But now, upon waking, I am so happy that he stayed. I am so ecstatic that he didn’t leave me to my own devices. I am thankful that I got a good night’s sleep and was able to go another day free of this disease. I like my eating disorder, but I love my future husband infinitely more.

Dee: 1           Bulimia: 0

SCORE!

Accountability and fear of being alone

Tonight I will be on my own. Home…alone. I dread nights such as these. I inevitably know that I will falter and sink into the abyss of binging and purging. I am literally frightened to get off work. Who knows what I’ll do. I’m trying to remember that eating is a conscious decision. It is simply untrue that a demon will take over my body and force me to cram food down my throat (however accurate this seems at times). But I know that I’ll be possessed once again.

2 years ago…

Wow! Two whole years since I’ve written on this blog. It’s amazing; it feels longer, but also shorter at the same time. So much has changed in my life. Sadly, not so much has changed eating disorder-wise. I wish I could say that I am recovered. It literally pains me to read my past posts and know that I’m not any better. It also pains me to dwell on the fact that everyone I love thinks that I am doing so much better.

Since I’ve last written, I have graduated from grad school, met the love of my life and soul mate, moved away from home, and gotten engaged. Lots of changes with this kid.

So, I am returning here in (another) attempt to reclaim my life from my disordered eating. There’s been ups and downs (mostly ups on the scale…). I’m beginning to feel out of control again. I need accountability. I need a shock to my system. I need someone to tell me that I am going to kill myself with this disease. If not, I know I will keep plugging along, binging and purging, until my dying day.

It’s strange. There’s so much happiness in my life. I have a man who will stand by me through thick and thin (all the weight analogies, lol) and who is so supportive of me. I love him with all my heart and want so badly to get healthy for HIM. I want to be capable of bearing our children. I want these things more than anything at the moment.  He makes me a better ME, and has reintroduced me to so many things I’d forgotten or never experienced because of my depression and eating disorder. I am so grateful for him. I feel undeserving of such a man.

In all of his goodness, kindness, and understanding, I cannot open up to my fiancé completely about my binging and purging. I know he loves me no matter what. But I hate disappointing him. I hate telling him that I had another slip up. I hate lying and hiding this one last part of me that he has yet to experience fully. Of course, he knows about the disorder. He knows the gravity of it. He does not, however, know that I am not doing nearly as well as I say that I am. I crave alone time so that I can eat and eat until I can’t anymore. I lie and tell the love of my life that I need introvert time when all I want to do is go to McDonalds. The guilt and shame is unbearable.

But as of this moment, I am putting my soul, body, mind, and heart into stopping the behaviors. I know I’m not doing it for myself. I am doing it for him, for our future children, for my family. I need incentive to beat this. And the ones that I love are the greatest treasure that I have. I will fight for THEM. It’s back to the drawing board; I’m dusting myself off and climbing up on my horse once again. Pray for me.

Disordered Date Night

Morning Guyzzzz!!

So…I’m going on a date tonight.  Of course, dates involve food and drink which only adds to the anxiety of a first date for one trying to recover from an eating disorder.  I’m so beyond scared.

I want to appear to be somewhat “normal” around food.  As I browse the menu of the restaurant we’re going to tonight, my heart is beating out of my chest.  Normal people don’t obsess over food on the first date, they think about fun things — what they’ll wear, what they’ll talk about, etc.  So sad.

So I want to eat something semi-normal (not a cobb salad with no dressing).  Side note: It’s kind of funny how I really hate “that girl” who always orders a salad with no cheese or croutons and dressing on the side.  Then I realize that I AM that girl.  How depressing.

Also, I don’t want to eat and eat out of nervous energy and binge and then have to excuse myself to the bathroom to *you know what*, and leave the poor guy sitting there alone.  So that’s a problem too.  Can I not just eat a reasonably portioned meal and keep it for one night so I can look like a normal 22-year-old?

This poor kid doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.

Starbucks Woes

“Do I want a pumpkin-spice latte, or a vanilla bean frappuccino?  Oooh, but a caramel macchiato sounds good too…”

“Have you tried those pumpkin muffins?”

“– Oh I know! I want the peppermint mocha thingy!”

Eating disorders are just awful.  I want to just order something offhandedly like other people do.  I want to order something that is not a black coffee with sweet-and-low…maybe a little cream if I’m feeling wild.  I want to order a yummy and delicious holiday beverage, I really do, but it’s just easier this way.  Having my black coffee keeps the voice in my head quiet.  Even pondering the idea of ordering something with all those calories has my head spinning.  I’m sure the world would just stop, or blow up, or something, if I dared consume those unnecessary liquid fat grams. Right?

Why head? WHYYYY? It’s silliness, it really is! Makes. No. Sense. It’s one drink!  It won’t kill me.  And yet, I’m sure that it would.  Instead, I’ll likely go home tonight and eat my kitchen in its entirety, consuming thousands of calories.  And then we all know what comes next.  Irrational.

Wow, it’s been a while…

Hello!

It has been much, much too long!  I hope everyone is doing well! So much has happened since I wrote on here last.  I attended an intensive-outpatient program over the summer and for the first part of this fall.  I recently stopped the IOP program to give myself more time to focus on my school work.  I want to believe that things are better, but I’m just not sure.  I think treatment did help me a little in the beginning.  The structure and accountability was good for me.  I ate foods that scared me in situations that were more than uncomfortable.  Tears were shed, lessons were learned.  With time, though, I felt that everything I was being told in treatment was going in one ear and out the other.  I suddenly no longer cared to get better or to let go of the eating disorder.

I’ve gained some weight over the months from being in IOP and from having lots of binging and purging behaviors.  To be perfectly honest, the thoughts are unbearable at times.  I feel like a failure. I was terrified to come back to school this fall because I was paranoid that my friends would notice or comment on the weight I’ve put on.  Eating disorders are so irrational.  Surely there are worse things a human can do than put on weight.  In my mind though, this is the ultimate sin, the one unforgivable act.

I am still living at home with my parents and sisters.  That’s a confidence-booster, being 22.  I’m rationalizing with myself that it’s smart of me, and I’m only at home to save money while I finish school.  But I know that if I was living alone I would crash and burn, hard.  Still, I look at the other girls in my grad program, so independent, so happy, carefree, out on their own.  I am jealous.  I feel less than, insignificant, not good enough, utterly useless.

So that’s how things are going for me at the moment.  I want so badly to be smaller.  Sometimes I feel I want to shrink into oblivion.  At the same time I just want to live my life.  I want to try and enjoy these years.  I know I’ll never get them back; I know they are precious.  I know these things, I do.  But why, then, am I so afraid to let the eating disorder go?