Last night I had the moment in recovery that always sends me running back into the arms of ED. I went clothes shopping.
I have a terrible habit of only ever buying pants when I am in starvation mode and can squeeze into a size 4 or 2. (Size 0 has never been attainable for me.) Last night I (rather stupidly) thought that I could handle buying a pair of size 6 pants. I thought I was being realistic although I was not brave enough to go and stand in a changing room in the store and look at myself. Instead, I got them home and they were so tight that I immediately lost my mind. I cried, I cursed, I mouthed off at God for not understanding that I cannot be this fat and maintain recovery.
I ate half a box of ex-lax, binged on quinoa salad and vegan coconut macaroons, ate the other half of the box of laxatives and went to bed mad, sad and distressed. I cannot deal with this excess of flesh. I cannot deal with barely fitting into a size 6 where six months ago I swam in my size 4 pants and purged until kingdom come. I panicked last night. I did what I always do when that fear overwhelms me. I broke down and abused myself for being a failure.
The only thin, almost non-existent, silver lining is that I did not purge last night even though it was all I wanted to do. I did get up this morning (after being up all night thanks to ex-lax) and went for a run, continuing on with my 5k training program. I got a migraine almost instantaneously and have spent the day in excruciating pain, both physical and mental. This anguish knows no bounds. I want to be well. I want to be thin. And not just any thin, but the thin that I believe to be beautiful: bones.
On a lighter note, never wear your new cream coloured pants to work after consuming a box of ex-lax the night before. Just in case……
I should have more faith. I really should, but not today. Maybe tomorrow?