About my life. About me as well as my feelings toward myself. I deny too often that this life style inflicts negative thoughts towards myself, but the fact of the matter is that it does. Restriction? Not so much. In fact, with success it gives me the euphoria that I've never felt from anything else; not from love, drugs, or what have you. But soon that euphoria dies with either the realization of a new goal weight to achieve, or a massive chain of binge events (I have been struggling too much with the latter of the two). Somehow along this journey I have lost how to love, as well as what it means to love - whether it be myself or others. Still, knowing all this isn't enough to shut out the constant thoughts. Unfortunately, as many recovery stories as I've heard, never have I heard within those stories that those voices cease to speak. And that is probably what scares me the most about trying to get better. I can either be tormented and thin, or tormented and normal/fat. Right now would most likely be a perfect time to say that I am lost, though saying such a cliche phrase such as that would be a futile attempt as a scape goat from life and taking responsibility. The fact of the matter is, that I am not lost. I know where I am as well as where I stand, yet its the next step that gives me the anxiety of feeling lost. Because there are not only two options but many. Throwing in the towel is one, but one that I knew if I made I would be regretting it in a few days or gained pounds - which ever were to come first. I could clinch my teeth, suck it up, and go on with restriction just to have my hopes shattered by a sequence of binges and purges which I know all too well end with the lingering of spitting and shitting blood. One commonality of all the roads end with the same problem: an obsession with myself to progress to the state which is appeasing to others, only to be contradicted with the fact that it all only pushes me further into an alienation of my own world. The extremes of both of the above stated options have lead me to a third option that brings the two to somewhat of an agreement: restrict as to stay around 107-110, or around 600 calories with exercise. The "voices", so to speak, lash out at me through the thought process of the third. Inquiring that it is my weak former fat self trying to grasp hold again, and before I know it I'll be that same sad fat girl to which I know will begin this vicious and repetitive cycle over again. Maybe I already know the path I will take, because I have taken it before so many times. Nonetheless, a decision needs to made. And I will make it.
The choice being somewhere In between the 3rd and 1st. This is something I can't fully throw in the towel for, because its become part of who I am and is necessary for some of the only true happiness I do experience from life. But other aspects that have been lacking so much due to the scarcity of my energy require that I do need to eat more than 300 calories a day. As well as those calories coming from greens, fruits, and proteins - not from two rolls of sweettarts a day. For one, my work ethics have been broken down from doing above and beyond to being bottom of the barrel. I used to delight in work, in my customers, but now I find it impossible with the irritation and lack of proper nutrients. All of which leave me with disappointed managers wondering what happened to that bright girl besides the decomposition of her body. The irritation doesn't stop at work though; it's an ongoing roller-coaster peaking not when I'm the hungriest, but when I've deemed myself a failure by giving in and having some green beans, or looking upon the scale and seeing an unchanged number - meaning only that I've remained an unchanged girl for yet another day. I've come from being a delightfully sarcastic and witty girl to a demonically and openly obsessed girl craving for her next victim to lash out at after a day, or even a moment, of failure. And I'm tired of the guilt. I'm tired of yearning for a break from my mind, one that I know I will probably never get. I'll say with complete honesty that I don't quite know what I'm trying to represent from this post, because it surely isn't quitting restriction. I'm just tired of the binging and purging that I can't seem to get away from for more than a week. I am, quite contrary to what this post might convey, optimistic about the future. Things seem to have a way of working out. And life, after all, is just a thing.
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