A Late Night Breakdown

3am and I’m still awake. Sitting in the dark with tears streaming down my face, wiping my nose with the back of my hand as I swallow my sobs because I don’t want to wake my husband.

Random irrational thoughts have been intruding my mind for the past 6 hours and I feel like I’m losing control.

So I ate. Chewing and swallowing, never tasting a single bite, putting my focus on what I had in front of me. Shoveling random food items into my mouth and then gulping them down much faster than was necessary, just trying to push these horrible feelings far enough down just so that I could safely make it through the rest of this night.

But it didn’t work.

To the bathroom. With my toothbrush in hand I poke the back of my throat, over and over, harder and faster, again and again…….

Until the only thing left coming out of me is snot and tears. I’m feeling so weak and so … broken.

My husband is still comfortably sleeping, the world is completely oblivious to what I’m going through. My dogs sit on either side of me, wondering why I have interrupted their sleep and why I am so upset.

I contemplate taking something to help me relax. I have a lot of options sitting in my top drawer. My mouth waters. The answer to everything that’s wrong right now. I could make all this shit end … even for a little while.

I’m desperate and so fuckin tired ….

Advertisements

Please Accept My Apology

My dearest Body,

Oh, how I have treated you so unkind. Oh, how so unkindly others have treated you. Yet, you still remain intact, bearing the physical, emotional, and psychological scars of unpleasantry for so little to see. Body, you have carried my being for years. You are much younger than I am in here. For reasons not yet completely known to me, there have been times where I have pinched you until you bled, cut you until you bled, starved you, poisoned you, and exploited you. Through all of this, you still remain with me: A young, beautiful shell carrying an old, bitter being.

Depression has allowed me to do these things to you. I never meant to hurt you. Family history runs deep within the vile rivers of disparity and self-loathing. I greatly apologize for those times I lacked the emotional and psychological ability to stop forced hate upon you. I want to blame my family history for my own past.

Rightfully so, these thoughts and actions are learned at a young age and I do not believe I would have naturally turned out this way if it weren’t for everything I have witnessed since birth.

Anger, depression, addiction, lust, and selfishness: the list continues. I have always known anger. I have always seen physical anger. These learned actions and reactions have caused me to harm you in ways I would never harm another living being. I cannot even kill a cockroach without crying inside.

My dearest Body, you did not deserve any of those things. I have taught you to stay still while I transcended into deep meditation. I taught you to stretch and run. I nurtured you with medication to heal you even when my brain maliciously told me not to. You are so incredible. I don’t tell you this often enough, but I spend long moments just staring at you up close. I love the rivets in your skin and the olive hue it gives off under its paleness. I am learning to love your eye color and your toes. I am learning how to give you what you need when you need it instead of selfishly taking and keeping from you.

With all of that being said, there is nothing I would want to change about you. Your lips are beautiful. Do not listen when I tell you they’re too thin. Your nose is perfect. Do not listen when I tell you it’s too big. Your vagina is magnificent. Do not listen when I tell you it’s not. Your nails are exactly as they should be. Do not listen when I tell you they’re too brittle.

The only things I wish to change are of my spirit. I am bitter and angry, yet hopeful and happy. I’m sorry that my mind is a bit confused, Body. I’m so grateful for you! For you have not betrayed me once. It is I who has betrayed you.

Yet, you inspire me by continuing to carry me forward!

You give me so much hope!

Thank you, Body.

Submitted by Ashley Godwin

This Sickening Illness 

The times I’ve spent bingeing, and purging, are quite simply some of the filthiest moments I have had in my life; they are snapshots of time that are so violently maimed by my actions, that I hate to think about them and my repulsive behaviours. 

Bulimia nervosa as a whole is a disgusting illness in many ways for a crazy number of reasons, but my behaviour during a binge and then the purge is by far the most sickening. 

My 72 Hour Binge 

Ok so I need to be honest. This weekend has been my worst 3 days of eating in months. I completely let myself go on a 72 hour binge and I am feeling so ashamed of myself that I’m lying here in bed at my mother in laws house, it’s 2 in the morning, and I can’t sleep because I feel miserable. 

I’m bloated. My stomach hurts. My legs are restless (it gets really bad when I don’t drink enough water). And it SUCKS. I’ve seen parts of the old, unhealthy, bulimic me come back and I gotta say – she ain’t pretty.

 I haven’t had any fruit or veggies. Ive eaten things that are are heavy and rich and so full of calories that I’ve had 2 weeks worth in a short amount of time. 

Hot dogs and birthday cake and homemade chip dip made of 5 kinds of cheese, bacon, cream, onion and big bags of potato chips and pounds of wings drenched in sauce and the list goes on. 

I haven’t had any physical activity. I’ve barely stood on my own 2 feet. But I legitimately couldn’t do much about that unless I actually did it on the side of the road because we’ve been traveling a lot and have only been at the house to go to bed. 

Drove 4 1/2 hrs then stopped in Bay Roberts for 2 hours. Then drove to Cupids and stayed for 4 hours. Then to Tillton and went to bed. Got up and went to set up a birthday party at the preschool here. Had the party. I was her photographer so I was steady go. 5:30 we left and met family for supper at Wing n It. Left there and went to visit other friends to help with her wedding planning. And that’s just part of it!

All that said, I failed miserably in my journey to become a healthy person and I hate myself for not putting the effort into making this weekend WORK. I just do not do well without a schedule. Throw a new routine my way and I fall apart. 

Enough is enough though. I cannot go back to that life. I need structure and things that make my body feel good. So goodbye FOREVER to HER. These 3 days were more than enough to show me how bad things WERE and how good I can have it NOW. It’s one thing to have an unhealthy meal or some junk food and cake at a party or a few drinks of alcohol. That’s a part of life and I know I will have that. But a 72 hour binge like I have had is not necessary. This binging and purging has taken years away from me and I have done so well with recovery. 

I can’t turn back now.

A Cancer Called Bulimia

I don’t think there is ever a true form of recovery from an eating disorder. It’s like a cancer. Eats away at your mind, destroys your teeth, causes blood vessels to explode in your eyes, dehydrates you, strips away every ounce of energy you may have, and it even makes your hair dull and brittle and eventually it starts to fall out. 
Bulimia is a slow, painful death. 
But wait. 
Something happens and you completely fall apart. Completely. You crumble under all of the pressure of trying to handle this illness on your own. You aren’t able to do anything anymore except curl up in a ball and pray to die. 
You give in. Just like chemotherapy for cancer, treatments for bulimia are HARD. You scream and cry and sleep for hours from exhaustion. You want it to stop but u also know that giving up on recovery is pretty much a death sentence. So you fight through it. Everything your doctors and therapists suggest, you do it. And finally you get to go home from the hospital. You are beaming with hope and plans and excitement about a healthy future. 
You are in remission!! 
Not cured because to stay in recovery from an eating disorder requires a lot of ongoing hard work. Daily. Every day that evil voice of the eating disorder invades your thoughts. Yes, even after a lengthy period of intense treatment, that voice stays. 
Now 5 years later after my most intensive period of treatment (out of the many other hospital stays) that spread over 11 months and 3 different hospitals, I still have that voice. 
Then it’s the relapse. The cancer has returned. Sick again. It has happened a few times. I get better. I stay better. Then I trip and fall flat on my face. Over and over. What I wouldn’t give to know true recover. But no. I am clumsy. I trip. A lot. 
Right now I’m down. Flat on my face, being pinned down by food. Binging. Purging. Laxatives. Diuretic teas. I’m stuck in this again and I can’t see any light. It’s so dark here. I can’t see a thing. All I can do is listen – to that evil voice from hell that is working very hard to spread this cancer so that it destroys every aspect of my life. 
It’s destroying me. As a person. And has made me very tired. Too tired in fact to put any effort into trying to recover. I’m sick. I admit it. I acknowledge that I have a problem. That’s all I can do right now. 
Admit. 
Accept. 
And work on making it from one day to the next. A 

Full Blown Relapse

Bulimia is a bitch. The insane binges followed by purging that never ever feels fully completed have been leaving me drained, in pain, and very depressed. My body is so physically confused these days. Food goes in. Food gets forced out by whatever means is available at the time.

Fingers down my throat.
Toothbrushes jabbing at my tonsils.
Sometimes all I have to do is lean over a toilet and I can make it happen without any physical actions at all.
Other days I drink cupfuls of laxative teas that work much faster and more powerful than any brand of laxative, ipecac, or intestinal flush I have ever tried – and believe me there aren’t too many things out there that have not been tried or attempted to induce sickness.

Every day I vow to eat at least 2 balanced meals and snacks. But every day just ends in failure. I do not need this right now. I cannot handle this relapse. It is messing with my medication levels which in turn is leaving me depressed and plagued with very bad thoughts, anxiety attacks at all hours of the day and night, and most upsetting, daily weight fluctuations.

It all started with a small weight gain last month that triggered some panic. A few days of restricted eating led to a week of throwing up everything I ate to what is now a steady cycle of binging, purging, and restricting. If I can get through the next couple of weeks without being hospitalized (against my will) then I will be quite surprised. I’ve already been confronted by my man with a talk of concern. Never good.

Ever.

If only I could muster up the strength within me to turn this around before something happens.