understanding

“Gary, can I talk to you about something personal? It's kind of hard to say. But I think I'd like for you to know. To be honest, I've had an eating disorder for six years, now. And since I care about you I wanted you to understand. I've had anorexia and bulimia, which essentially means, restricting or binging and purging all the damn time. Remember when I told you I was isolated for 4 years? That was what I was doing, binging and purging on any food item I could find. I don't want you to think this kind of thing can be appeased by a simple sit-down meal with you and Diane, no, it needs treatment and support. Both of which I'm not receiving. I'm too afraid to let go of the comfortability of my eating disorder, and have no support system I can lean on. It's like any addiction; whether it be drugs, alcohol, smoking – they all have a commonality, and that's is you'll never be completely rid of them. I hit bottom when I was 17, and still have continued my eating disordered behavior. It's my comfort zone. I don't exactly know what I wanted to accomplish by telling you all this, other than receiving your support.”

This is what I came up with in the long morning hours, where you're surrounded by darkness and assuredly alone. I want to tell Gary about my eating disorder, what D didn't fill in for him. I'm super anxious about telling him (which will either be Monday or Tuesday, depending on schedules) and will probably need to take a klonopin to be reassured.

I've been a bad girl neglecting my blog lately and I apologize. My intake has been low, I don't really give a damn about recovery right now. I called Remuda Ranch last night, in a purely desperate move. And asked about their program and admissions process. As usual when someone starts telling me something a warmth sweeps over me and I zone out. So I didn't process much of what she said other than, 'You should call me with your insurance group number, sooner rather than later.' What! Once again my curiosity got the better of me. I want recovery, but I'm too afraid to get it. The fact that I've started severely restricting again is a red flag and I can't go like this. If I do, I'll be nine-years-old again, writing a suicide note, and putting a gun in my mouth. It's suicide. But the fear is paralyzing. I want to. I do not want to. 

Things in the past have influenced the way I am now. I don't pay for anything I own, yet don’t expect anyone to give me anything, because I understand that's not how the world works. D called on Thursday night, and told me that she needs to remind herself that I do have disorders and that it's not a choice. I don't know what to respond to that with. I don't know if I want to continue staying with her on the weekends, seeing as all she does it trigger my b/p-ing and guilt. 'You make me feel guilty when I'm over there,' can I say that? That's what my therapist suggested I do, because D reinforces "binging" by force feeding me. But I asked myself what would really benefit me? I want to help her get out of her own rut/depression, but I don't want to jeopardize my own health at the same time.