The holidays have always been somewhat of an interesting thing for me, an awkward dance of sorts. I love and hate them all at the same time. More hate this year though for some reason. Actually, not 'some reason', I know exactly why. I love the holidays because I get to spend time with family, who I love more than any single sentence could ever depict. I get to give gifts, hopefully put a few smiles on some faces, watch some pretty lame Christmas movies and generally just do nothing. This year was the first in, I don't know how long, that I had this amount of time off from work. Five days posed a larger problem than I had anticipated. By day four when I returned home, the anxiety set in that I had SAT most of my time off and all hell broke loose inside of me.
Stick around and I'll get back to how my stupidity surly got the better of me.
To put my hate into perspective, I have to be on guard with what and how much I consume at all times. I am, after all, being watched. And not just by Ed, I have this inkling that my family, or whoever is around, is watching me too. That may be my imagination. I'm the queen of "eat now, make up for it later" when it comes to being with Family. Whether I eat and purge right away, eat and restrict for days to follow or eat and work out at bed time or when I return home. I'm SURE no one is any the wiser. Right? They see me eat, I say things are going great, they're happy, I've lied and now I'm guilty and miserable. Being around that amount of food, with that amount of people, for that long, makes me so so uneasy. That is quite an understatement. I foolishly took another route this year though. One I have been known to take in the past but not for some time now.
I thought I was getting better. Boy, was I mistaken.
I was SO prepared this year! That's a lie, Ed came prepared, I was unknowingly awaiting the repercussions that came and I'm not sure are going away anytime soon.
For four days I chewed diet pills, drank water, pee'd every ten minutes (literally) and silently obsessed, debated and counted every calorie consumed. *that only has 25 calories a slice. okay I'll have one, only one, but I'm not having lunch then* I was the farthest thing from present, I can't recall if anyone enjoyed or even opened my gifts. I kinda had a terrible time, I was a bit of a bitch. And I ruined my own Christmas. I was completely, 100% wrapped up in Ed. I can tell you though, exactly what I ate, how many pills I popped, what food was around, and... How much weight I lost. Fuck. I can also reiterate how I am paying for it today.
I've never been over my healthy "what the Dr's want me at" weight. But I have been spot on and way under. I unfortunately have enough sense to know that when I am even one pound under, my entire self is transformed more so than ever. Ed grabs right hold and keeps on beating. He thinks my every thought and I give up the fight. I am silenced. Not only do I not speak, the devil roars from my mouth and I'm not even close to being me anymore. And the weight, it just keeps coming off. The fight is done. Ed really has won.
When I got home I worked out like a bandit as tears poured from my eyes. I tore my room into pieces, purged my life of all the belongings I think I don't want anymore. And then cleaned it all up. I cried for two and a half days straight. I lost a friend because I can't keep my mouth shut long enough to listen. I argued, pleaded, fought, begged, yelled and cried some more. I said things I so so meant but weren't meant for his ears. I subjected him to words that no person should ever hear from another. But I need help, and I need someone to help me, but I did it in such the wrong way possible. Then I proceeded to do the same thing to my mom. My poor poor mom has probably been wondering at times these past few days if I'm even still alive.
So here I am trying to pick up the pieces I scattered all over the place. Knowing very well that it's not me but it's my voice. Knowing I should be better, I should know how to control what I say and the thoughts that I think. I should be a better person, I should never let myself slip like I have. But for some reason I can't. It's Ed speaking, not me. It's the eating disorder roaring it's nasty head and the damage I've caused is done before I know it and eventually I come crawling with my tail between my legs begging to be able to take it back. I can't take it back. I can hardly recall what I've done, it's a hazy hazy state. I'm sick, I need saving and don't know if I really want to be saved anymore. Is it even possible?
