How Did We End Up Here?

The last couple of days have been rather difficult for me, and today has been no different. I have been falling deeper and deeper into something I never thought I could come close to.I’m worried for myself, but it seems that it’s not enough to make me stop whatever this is.

I don’t know if I can categorize it as such, but think I need to start calling it something. An eating disorder.

I hate myself for this.

Currently, I am sitting in my mother’s office, typing this, worriedly looking over my shoulder so that no one can see the words I just wrote. I am so ashamed of myself for thinking this way. Why can’t I be happy with the way that I am? With the way I eat? I hate eating.

What was once my favorite thing, what was once the thing I cherished, what was once the thing I knew I would never lose…it’s gone. My love of food is gone. Now it’s just a hate. An indulgence. The Starbucks drink and muffin I ate this morning? I want to throw it up.

That is something else I prided myself on. I could never be bulimic because I despise throwing up. But now…last night I didn’t think it was such a bad idea. I could take the pain and the bad taste, if I really wanted to. I am afraid of myself, of what I will do. At this moment, these thoughts are making me want to vomit, just out of fear for who I am becoming.

Don’t get me wrong, last night what I finished off a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food Froyo, I felt no regret, but when I went to bed a few hours later, tears welled up in my eyes because of the two slices of pizza I scarfed down beforehand. That’s what made me feel like throwing up, like purging the guilt.

I have been living off of trail mix and whatever I eat for dinner. It varies from spaghetti to pizza to tacos to In-n-Out. I immediately regret eating all of it the second I take the last bite. Even if it’s not enough calories to sustain me, it’s still too much. I want to cry whenever I eat anything, even the trail mix. Every little thing is an indulgence. Everything. And I hate that. I absolutely hate it.

So why don’t I stop? My mom doesn’t mention my weight anymore. My friend is happily in recovery and doing so well. But I am not happy with the number on the scale. I haven’t weighed myself in a few days, but it’s not low enough, and I know that. I know that my dinner is enough to push me to a number I don’t want to see. So I just need to eat less, right? But I’m afraid of people noticing that I’m eating less…or not at all. I don’t want people to know.

But why am I telling all of you? Writing this post for the whole world to see? Because you are all strangers to me, and it’s easier to tell strangers your problems and it’s easier to spill your secrets this way. No one I know reads this anyway.

Just the other day, I had to fill out a bunch of health forms for college. One was a medical history and there were two questions I didn’t want to answer. Have you suffered from an eating disorder? and Have you suffered from depression? I answered no to both because…nobody knows about them.

I diagnosed myself with depression so there was no medical anything about it, including medication. And I didn’t want to say I have/had an eating disorder because then what? I wasn’t treated for it and nobody knows what I’m doing to myself. If I checked “yes” that would have made this real, and I didn’t want to believe it was. But now I’ve admitted it. Isn’t that the first step to recovery? Well, yes, but I’m not done yet. I’m not happy with how I look now and I wasn’t happy with the way I looked before. Why am I not good enough?

That was my problem: I didn’t feel good enough for everyone else, but I was happy with myself. Now I hate myself and it doesn’t matter what others think of me. I don’t feel good about myself. I don’t want to hurt my body, but I don’t want to go on eating.

That’s the thing; I’m in a new territory. I feel like most people who develop eating disorders don’t realize it at first, they just want to lose some weight. Eating less and exercising can do that for you. Then they become obsessed and it turns into something more. With me, I knew exactly what I was getting myself into. I knew the dangers and I guess I knew it would eventually turn into this. I mean, this all started out as me not eating to spite my mom. I thought I could quit easily. I didn’t know how much I would let this get to me. How stupid of me.

How incredibly, undeniably stupid of me.

I don’t want this. I don’t want to be branded this way, to become a statistic. I thought I was stringer than this. I thought that I couldn’t get sucked into another Dark Place. I didn’t think I was this weak. And I am. I am weak. I’ve let this get inside my head and control my thoughts.

I am afraid what will happen to me. I have my period, which is a good sign, I guess. But it is so light. I’ve had it for four days and there has been barely any blood. What if come September 30th, nothing happens. I think that’s my biggest fear about all of this. Not getting my period and not being able to have kids in the future. I know someone that hasn’t had her period in over a year because of anorexia, and she’s been in recovery for almost a year. What if that happens to me?

I’m terrified. But I still don’t want to eat. I used to almost brag that I could never develop an eating disorder because I love food and I hate throwing up. But look where I am now, hating food and considering puking up my next meal.

I am unhappy and afraid. I am about to cry in the middle of this residuals office, in front of my mom’s co-workers, most of whom I’ve known my entire life. My heart beats faster every time someone walks behind me because of what I am writing right now. My mother was just one of those people.

I need to stop writing this because I just keep feeling sick at the thought of all this…Hopefully I’ll have something better to talk about tomorrow.

Today I celebrate the seven year anniversary of my friendship with Natalie. Seven years. Such a wonderful day and this is what my mind is overrun with…I am a terrible friend.

I need to pray for guidance. And for Chelsea. She is having another surgery today. And I’m still worried about myself. I am so selfish.



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