Let me start off by apologizing. I haven’t written in quite some time and have just left you guys hanging. I’m really sorry about that.
As I write this post, my eyes are begging me to stop holding in the tears, but I just can’t cry. Not now at least . . . I need to be strong for the few minutes I spend composing this post.
It all started 2 days ago at 9am when I walked into the sterile, white nutrition clinic. After nearly 3 years of visiting this clinic where I see my dietician, I knew the drill by heart. Once my tall, lanky dietician walked into the outdated waiting room, I was to get up out of my uncomfortable chair and make my way own a wide, clean hallway. There near the middle of the hall would be my worst enemy – the scale. I would have no choice but to step on its silvery platform and watch the small digital screen bleep up some numbers that determine whether I am a success or a complete failure.
That cold, miserable day I was weighed was a day of relentless rejoicing for my parents and dietician. For me though, it was quite the opposite. The scale had revealed that I had put on a pound and if you have an eating disorder, you know exactly how horrific it feels. I wanted to curl up in a corner and just let salty tears rush down my fat cheeks. I wanted to throw up every morsel of food that ever entered my damn mouth. I wanted to hide in my room and never be seen again.
All because of a damn pound. . .
Now I wish I could say that I was able to get over this hump and continue making steps towards my recovery, but that would be a lie. Though I have not really restricted, I have purged. Yesterday that urge was incredibly overpowering. I rushed to the bathroom, opened my mouth, and let revolting regurgitated tuna spill into the toilet. As I flushed the porcelain latrine, I felt an overwhelming wave of guilt hit me as hard as Typhoon Hyan hit the Philippines.
“How could I have let myself do this?” I thought to myself. “Why did I just throw away all the progress I made?”
I am still wondering the answer to those two questions and I beginning to think that maybe I’ll never fully recover. Maybe I’ll always be purging. Maybe I will always be obsessed with calories. Maybe I will also be tormented by my cruel abuser – Ed.