I decide in all my ED wisdom to come home and eat 8 slices of toast with peanut butter and honey. No matter how long and hard I try, I cannot purge it. I curse myself for being too stupid to remember that this deadly combination doesn’t come up easily. So, I resort to laxatives. I know that they won’t stop the calories but I need to empty my system as fast as I can. I am dreading waking up tomorrow and seeing my sins staring back at me in the mirror. There is no penance for this.
The last few weeks have been painfully non-descriptive. I restrict during the day. I binge and purge at night. My weight stays the same. I lose the will to exercise. I slip into a state of being constantly overwhelmed by life. Every day is more or less the same. I see no end in sight.
Tonight I uncovered a diary from seven years ago in which I had written that I felt like death was near. There is no mention of how bad my ED is but I can tell from the state I was in that it was out of control. I read the goodbye letters that I wrote for my parents, my two brothers and my (ex) husband. They were suicide notes. There is no denying that. I weep for my twenty-three year old self and then I weep for my thirty year old self. Nothing has changed. I am still in turmoil, inside and out.