I Had A Bad Day

I binged and purged at every meal today.

I should have known when I went for a truffle before breakfast that I was in a disordered mindset.

I had a rough night on Valentine's Day—or let's say Ed did.

I had stayed home from work that day because I didn't feel well, my throat was super sore, I couldn't breathe through my nose and had an awful headache. Ed and I fought all day to not binge and to not go to the gym. I was successful. I ate on my meal plan and took care of myself. Then ChaCha came over to celebrate San Valentin.

I had done nothing that day but be in sweats and work. This was my highlight of the day and I was going to act like I wasn't sick and that Ed didn't exist—only thing is he fucking does.

I shaved my legs, washed my hair, did my makeup nicely and even put on matching underwear. This was Chacha's first Valentine's Day in the US with a girlfriend so I wanted it to be special and cheesy. 

Now to keep being honest with you all I have to embarrass myself a lot a bit right now. I am not sexy, I do not know how to get the mood going or how to make sex happen like it does in the movies...

My hope was that he wouldn't be able to resist me and we'd be at it as soon as he walked in the door—no such thing happened. Ed took offense and started talking louder than ChaCha.

It's hard to pay attention when you have two conversations going at once—one in your head and one with the person in front of you. All I could hear was how ugly I was, how unsexy and unworthy I was even to the guy I'm dating. I felt like such a loser. 

I went upstairs and weighed myself 150 lbs. WHAT THE FUCK. I had been working out every day. I had been restricting here and there in hopes it'll help and I gained 5 pounds?! I was at my high school weight. My shameful embarrassing weight. No wonder he didn't want anything to do with me.

I tried keeping a smile on but it just got harder as we went to the market (as Chacha calls it—I call it Fred Meyer). He picked out yummy foods to make that Ed had no intention of eating. I went along with it and got champagne to calm my nerves. He said it wasn't a good idea. I said I want it. So I got it.

We get home and I weigh myself again. Same damn number. I see ChaCha add oil to the pan, cream cheese to the salmon and crackers…my anxiety is through the roof. I sip the champagne pissed at myself that I broke my sobriety. Pissed that I do not weigh less. Pissed that I'm not a sexy girlfriend. Pissed that I'm a failure.

With a big breath I told Chacha what was going on. He of course doesn't see any of it. He says I am sexy, I don't have to try. He says this is healthy food and it's ok to eat a bit of it. He makes sense but Ed doesn’t believe him. Ed is strong right now.

I calm down a bit and don't even get drunk and don’t over or under eat which is good. We go upstairs and go to bed.

I wake up this morning feeling even worse. Still trying to not cough up a lung in front of ChaCha I see him off at 6 am. Write into work that I can't work today. My head was killing me. So what do I do?

I sleep. Overeat. Throw up. Sleep. Overeat. Throw up. Sleep. Cancel going to treatment. Overeat. Throw up. Journal.

I am so ashamed. I have not done anything like this since before I was in treatment. I think it's because I'm in my parents' house. I think it's because my mind is so fucking twisted. It's all or nothing. I can't have any junk food or I must have it all. If I don't work out I should just eat because it's a wasted day. I'm so upset with myself because I literally did NOTHING but eat and throw up today. I am sitting here in my puke splattered clothes writing this to you at 7:38 PM. I'm exhausted. I'm sad. I feel like I'm in such debt now. How do I make up for all the calories I ate today? It will require more restricting more working out…but that's what got me here in the first place. But food, is not something I want to see ever again. I hurt more than I already did. I've wasted a gorgeous day. I should have just forced myself into work.

But I can't get down on myself, that negative place gets me nowhere. But I can't find a positive in today except for the fact that I got to wake up to Chacha, it was sunny, and I'm asking for help now. Better late than never.

God I even have to remake all the cookies I was going to bring in for Valentine's Day to work since I ate ¾ of them.

This is probably the most important part of this post: I realized that I rely too heavily on this blog because I feel alone. I do not have  the guts to call up a friend without this disorder and say I want to eat. I hate myself. I am fat. I'm sick of saying it so they must be sick of hearing it. Ed tells me that people don’t care. People at work don’t like me at all. People in treatment don't want to hear what I have to say. My boyfriend is going to get bored of me. If I do bring this up to my friends I just get ashamed and brush over it-I'm fine I'm fine forget I said anything. I mean what am I supposed to say? What are they supposed to say? This is the only place I have to let it all out—I mean that and my therapist—but she has to listen to me. So I thank you for reading, I thank you for reminding me I'm a little less alone.

And this is so embarrassing but if you really wouldn't mind me calling / texting / messaging you when I'm struggling please write me because I need to start reaching out when I need help instead of being so embarrassed to do so before it's too late.

I'm going to drink water. Tomorrow is a new day.