this ain't a rap song, this my life

DAY 1

I am now officially in Recovery. A sort-of homespun 12 Step program. My mom is the only one privy to this program: which, in reality is just COLD freaking TURKEY. Heroin addicts get methadone, and nicotine addicts get prescriptions or patches. Granted, most addictive disorders involve treatments that you are required to strictly give up completely. Such as alcohol or gambling. But my addiction is both socially acceptable and encouraged. You have to eat. Friends get annoyed if you go out and refuse to eat or eat little. Unfortunately, this is a VERY slippery slope for me. If I eat more than I have allotted for the meal or for the day, I am a mess. I fixate on nothing else but erasing the excess. By any means necessary.

My point is, today, DAY 1, is REALLY HARD. It should be obvious that I am a "serious case" and have had bulimic binge/purge episodes several times DAILY for many years. I have done the therapy/prescription option, and I can tell you I got in touch will all my damn feelings and still puked all my food up. I was on Prozac and my own parents didn't recognize me. I think me on anti-depressants scared them more than being bulimic. I was so placid; pure apathy. Where I find myself today at 29.5 years old, is VERY SCARED. I am absolutely terrified about the health consequences of my actions. Hence, here I am, ready to kick this nonsense once and for all. And on Day 1, of all things, I went to brunch with my family.

Strawberry and Banana Crepes with Vanilla Creme and Whipped Cream. Sausage Gravy with a Biscuit. and five bites of my brother's Pancakes with Butter and Syrup. (I did not clean my plates because I *rarely* do that in public--I ate roughly half of the crepes and biscuit and all of the yummy parts). Two Glasses of Water and a Diet Coke.

I am extremely full. Not to mention I felt like a cow before brunch. Last night was a horrible night, eating-wise, but I honestly don't want to go into the gory details just now. I feel like rolling myself over on the couch and my mind is screaming:

THAT WAS WAY OVER 800 calories!!! I should only eat about 800 calories in the whole day!!! FAT!! FAT!! FAT!! I LOOK DISGUSTING!! OH GOD, HOW WILL I EVER LOOK GOOD IN MY BIKINI AGAIN????? GET THAT *$$*%# OUT OF MY BODY NOW!!!

And then I look at my mom, and the promises I have made her. The promises I have made myself, and I just suffered through it. Actually, I got a pedicure with my mom. I tried (am trying) very hard to drive those thoughts to the far corners of my mind. It is (kind of) working. Baby steps, I suppose.


And then....

My mom (who is the most amazing support system, needless to say) offered me a fabulous new handbag when I make 20 days!! Holy Crap! Now if that is motivating, I don't know what is...she's got me good now...


But, candidly, the first 48 hours are incredibly difficult. I am in a warzone with my own head. I am fighting myself. And then once I pass that threshold, the world is a brighter place. I am a semblance of ME again. Not the "me" that is a shell of a person--that person has sadly become the norm. The clouds seem to lift after about 2 days and my spirits soar. In a cruel twist of fate, this is perhaps an even more dangerous time. One bite of junk food, and I am sure I am strong enough---but I NEVER am. Statistically, the highest rate of successful suicides occur as patients are coming out of their deep depression. The reason for this is, the sufferer believes they have hit rock bottom and start to climb up out of their deep dark whole. Bit by bit, they feel better, yet one notch backwards can send them reeling. Suddenly, and tragically, life seems so much more helpless than ever before. I am not suicidal, but I have been so severely depressed, that I was (many years ago, and really I think I just grew up and gained some perspective. and I got a dog--a creature that depended on me and loved me unconditionally without judgment. worked miracles!!). On a depression scale, where suicide is -2 and pure euphoria is a 12, my pendulum is currently swinging from a 3-6. This is awful! In my mind, my life should fluctuate from 5-10. When I win the lottery or get married, I look forward to 12.

After I ate brunch--that was a 3. I was racked with anxiety. Now, 4 hours later, I might be at a 5. The evidence doesn't lie, given enough time--- I WILL BE OKAY and I WILL GET THROUGH THIS.

I am going to go pick out my new purse online now, I think...