My every day was this chaotic, yet rhythmic sequence of extremes with an undertone of food-obsession and self-loathing. Every day fulfilled my longing for thrill. Everything from stealing money to madly stuffing my face to violently vomiting it all out. Bulimia scares me. It scares me more so than anorexia. My story will undoubtedly be different from everyone else's, and in my experience, I found anorexia to be kind of dull and boring. Sure, I starved myself for weeks and believed I was an omnipotent superhuman for denying a fundamental aspect of survival, but eventually my hunger cues would completely be muted and the most exciting things to occur would be famine-induced dizzy spells and faintings. Bulimia was much more stimulating, terrifying, enticing, all at the same time. Like waiting in line for the world's most bad ass roller coaster, or like running from an avalanche. It's a never-ending battle within myself, with my body. I'm emotionally famished so I eat as fast as I can, as much as I can, as if my body knows that that would be the one and only opportunity to have food. Like when a bear stuffs itself for the entire winter before hibernating. Then I purge out all my emotions. I flush them down the toilet believing I'm saying "good bye" to my emotions once and for all, but like the vomit splashed on the wall, there are always some residual feelings left behind.
This daily, hourly ritual has been taken away from me. For 105 days to be exact. My whole life is bulimic. Alcohol, drugs, writing papers, studying, isolating, expressing - everything is a binge/purge cycle. And not being able, or choosing to not act out on my urges has been a battle as well. I want to act out, I want to feel excitement. My boyfriend's going out of town this Saturday for 7 days and it's the perfect time for a relapse. I've been fantasizing about relapsing ever since I've known about his trip and I've been rationalizing it to its minute detail. I'm bound to have a relapse sooner or later - I'd rather plan it out than have it occur spontaneously on one stressful day; I'd rather have some sort of control over it. I just want one day of fuck-it's. That will be my relapse and I'll get it out of the way, and get back on the recovery train. I know the "one day" will lead to more days, but it's so hard to get unstuck in my temptations. I want my urges to go away. Things haven't gotten easier, yet. I just want so badly to stop having these ever-growing temptations so that I can live presently. I feel ashamed because I need a babysitter for 7 days. I'm 23 and I need a babysitter. Maybe I should just take sleeping pills for the week because I feel like the easiest way out of this mindset is to be asleep.
If I fuck up, I don't consider it an indication as to how much I value sobriety. My therapist says it is. And I absolutely hate that she sees it that way.
"Life is like an extended-release acid trip."
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