I got home from a long day at program and pulled my black
knee high boots off while pieces of animal cracker fell out of them. I had only
managed to sneak two, therefore skimping on only 28 calories, but the high I got
from having managed to get away with it was like nothing else. I was still in
control. No one knew, so no one could stop me. This is my 5th time
in this partial hospitalization program perpetuated by a rape that happened
only a month ago, I keep being asked “if you don’t want to get better than why
are you here?” But a wise man once told me years ago, in high school that
showing up was half the battle, so until I find the desire to be healthy I am
banking on that 50% that just sits in group attempting to not crawl out of my
skin or run.
Of course the guilt of not being able to sneak more of my
dinner into my boots ate at me unlike the way I ate at my dinner so there I was
in the shower 20 minutes later vomiting up carrots and chicken nuggets that I didn’t
think would ever come up after having sat in my stomach for two hours. What can
I say the tummy knows best and if it was still hurting to me that meant it was
still digesting, therefore I had a chance to get rid of at least part of my
dinner. I took the chance that someone might hear me but managed to go unheard
as orange particles splattered all over the tub. I then quietly cleaned up the
mess and thanked the Lord that I had not clogged the drain. I was told that
since I have lost weight this week along with the last weekend they would be
increasing my calories. Although I didn’t show it the anger raging inside me is
like no other. I find that I am putting on this happy face and participating
more in groups than I am comfortable with in attempt to hide the pain I am
actually feeling, because once that lion is released there is no reeling it
back in. It seems so counterproductive and in some sense, it is, but by lying
to those trying to help me as well as myself I feel like I am somehow
protecting myself from feelings that in the past I have allowed walk me to a
bottle of wine, pills and razor blades. An eating disorder is less likely or
will at least take longer to kill me than all the meds I have at my disposal.
The shaky feeling as I type and the feeling of emptiness and
pains in my chest from straining to get up my food is a good uncomfortable. It’s
a reminder that I am still in control and a part of me wants to announce it to
the world “Look how accomplished I still am, I am winning!” But no one will
hear it that way, matter of fact they might get mad or run or worst of all they
might stop me. Well since I am not empty I guess I can attempt to digest this
situation and consider if sticking around for the other 50% is worth it or if I
should just move on and do what I do best, suppress my emotions while helping
everyone else with theirs. After all it’s a much better use of my time than
walking around with “animal crackers in my boots, monkeys and rabbits loop the
loop”.
© Kim Edwards
December, 6, 2016
