Discharge

I’m not ready to leave treatment. My life isn’t changed. I didn’t learn any new skills. I didn’t have some big revelation that I really really wanted to cure my bulimia because of blank reason. I didn’t have a breakthrough regarding behaviors. In fact, my behaviors were still better before I left college. And as for a big breakthrough of motivation- it’s never been so low. My only goal right now is to lose weight without purging. I know that goal is not a healthy one, and I know that it could lead to more binging and purging, but I don’t care. I never wanted to gain weight. I think my idea of how to do that has changed, but not from this treatment. I will eat more now than I did during the school year, because I know that I can lose weight eating just a little bit more and that I won’t be hungry. But 2000 calories? HELL NO.

Basically, I don’t know if treatment really helped. It did in the short term, because it was a distraction from binging and purging (since it was impossible at treatment and I would have felt really rude doing that there anyway). Meeting other people with eating disorders helped too, although a couple times it actually made me feel worse about myself because these people were so incredibly nice and although I’m nice in my head, it doesn’t always come out that way. Also, they were dealing with illnesses that were much more serious than mine, or so I felt.

In an ideal world, the next step would be to see a therapist a few times a week. I say a few times because for me, once a week is agonizing and it doesn’t get anything done. I also intend to use my therapist as a crutch to talk about the eating disorder. I can’t talk about it with anyone else, because if I did, it would be ALL I talked about. Seeing a therapist once a week wouldn’t allow me to talk about all my thoughts with someone and get feedback.

But that’s what it’s going to be.

And so I will go back to feeling alone, sad, misunderstood, and hateful towards myself.

Here we go. 

Bulimic Breakfast

My head rises spinning from its pillow

Pad pad pad

My feet find themselves downstairs

On the cold kitchen floor, pointed toward

A colder box of cereal that sticks its nose up in the air

I stare.

He stares.

I don’t need breakfast.

But instead I take a shiny silver spoon,

To admire

Plunge it into the nearest peanut butter jar,

And scrape off the gooey stomach to lather my tongue with belonging.

Good morning peanut butter.

The peanut butter wants a party.

I can’t disappoint. Bread, jelly, chocolate topping

Tortilla, ice cream, the leftover cake (if I can find it)

Grapes, burrito, milk, chocolate, butter straight

From the stick, the antisocial cereal, granola bars,

Crackers, raisins…

I tumble back into bed,

Drunk on peanut butter.

Cracker dust settles over my face, and it makes me sneeze.

Except the sneeze comes from my mouth.

The police are here. Run peanut butter, run!

I’ll fight you- leave before I cut you open to spill

All your pretty insides.

Acid and peanut butter, the wispy milk, the plump grapes

Skip right up my throat.

Acid burns green inside my throat, pummeling

My nerves, cutting my tongue with tiny razors

And thoughts seep up from my stomach with fumes

Like toxic waste, boiling my brain down to the size

Of a spoonful of peanut butter

With the consistency of peanut butter

Even thoughts like peanut butter

Slow and moist and too rich to be rejected.

As the guests leave the owners step in, shouting

At me, but it’s me that’s shouting at me

And I’m vomiting the hate all over myself again and again

Until I can’t take it anymore, and even again then.

I’m surrounded by peanut butter- it’s drowning me

And it will curl up inside my skin unless I get rid of it all.

Lights go out.

Ouch.

Pad pad pad

My feet carry me back to bed.

My head hits the pillow, spinning.

Muted thoughts of peanut butter delights

Whisper through my dreams.

I snuggle up with bulimia

And sigh, contented

To loathe myself.

All is right with the world. 

Ode to Chocolate Cake

I think my biggest trigger food is chocolate cake. So I wrote a poem sort of describing the process my mind goes through when I'm tempted. 

It's not the best poem I've ever written, but it's the first one in a long time. 

Four years back you were my lover

And I don’t think I can recover

From your silky buttered skin

Crushing all my dreams of thin.

Each particle of cocoa screams

Made richer by the hidden creams.

They’re crying for my parting lips

To settle them upon my hips.

Chocolate cake makes up the skies

No other light could pierce my eyes

Except your icing rays of sun

Which take my senses, one by one.

How could I have ever hated

The only thing that keeps me sated?

Chocolate falls, a chocolate world

My chocolate flag is now unfurled.

We are one, dear chocolate cake

I’ll never make that old mistake

Of locking you outside my heart.

We could not survive apart.

I’ll take you now and again and again

And again and again and again and again

And again! I’ll never stop!

And who cares about the beauty shop?!

Chocolate cake? Are you there?

Pot bellies and thundering thighs

Are dragged away with tears and sighs.

The only thought is to rid the monstrosity

From my body with high velocity.

Even that can cure no woes

Since I can’t even see my toes.

I will never ever ever

For the rest of my forever

Allow even a tiny bite.

… at least until you’re in my sight. 

PMS and Binging

Every month, right before my period, all my good intentions go to hell. It’s not uncommon for women to experience cravings at this time of the month, due to raging hormones, and in people with bulimia, this can have disastrous effects. My weekly total of behaviors spiked to about 6 instead of 1 or 2.

The thing about binging right before your period is that it’s harder to resist than binging on normal days. You have all the psychological triggers and you have extra hunger and bodily urges to eat because of the hormones. Also, the stuff you crave right before your period tends to be unhealthy stuff (at least for me), so if you give in to an urge to eat some of it, there’s more incentive to continue down the path of binge, rather than stopping yourself.

I think the best thing to do is to keep track of when your period is and notice your cravings. It might help reduce them. 

Dear Body,

I’m sorry. I’ve put you through a lot, even though it’s been under the guise of taking as good care of you as I can. I’m sorry for scratching your throat with my long fingernails. I’m sorry for throwing up so much that acid eroded your esophagus and teeth. I’m sorry that I refused to give you food when you were starving. I’m sorry I made you eat your own fat and muscle tissue in order to stay alive. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how much I love you. I’m sorry I kept saying that I hate you, over and over again.

I promise from now on to take good care of you. I will exercise within my limits, to give you a nice healthy inner cleaning, but I will not run until my tendons creak and my breath barely comes into my lungs. I will eat good foods, sticking to my meal plan to ensure that you get enough of the nutrients you deserve. (of course, I will eat more vegetables than the meal plan allows right now, but I’ll wait to add that) I will eat foods that satisfy my desires, like cake and cookies, but only in small portions, so that I don’t crave or binge. I will relax when I need to and I will listen to you. I will not punish you for things you cannot control, like when you gain weight, or when you get hungry. I promise.

You know, the only reason I messed up is because I want you to be your best. I know how important you are to me, and I never intended to do permanent damage. My mistake was that I didn’t love you for who you are. I only loved you for what you could be, and when I found out that you couldn’t live up to my expectations, I abused you unfairly.

It’s ok. I love you now. And I will try my best to love you forever. No matter if you make mistakes, or do something I don’t like, I will treat you well, and we can resolve our problems with each other in gentle ways.

I hope you can forgive me.

Love,

Emily

Meet My Friend ED

Something I never understood is the idea that an eating disorder could be another identity besides your own. In other words, I’m me, and the eating disorder is another person that manifests itself in my body, causing me to act certain ways, say certain things, etc. For me, that never made sense. I am Emily, and I have an eating disorder. It’s part of me. And when I do something bad because of the eating disorder (like stealing food), that’s not someone else doing it. It’s me. And even if I’m in on a hunger rampage and don’t feel like I can control the things I do, I still do them, and I still pay the consequences. For me, pretending that the eating disorder controls me is just an excuse for bad behaviors I take part in. Alcoholics have to take responsibility for their addictions. I have to take responsibility for mine.

Otherwise I’m just an enabler.