Tag Archives: binge eating


I’m not great at dealing with changes that aren’t my decision. Which, really, covers a lot of changes.

Usually I can bring myself around to being ok with the changes given enough time, how much time is needed is really dependent on what the change is and how off guard it caught me.

Something else I’m not good at dealing with is people going away. I guess you could say I have abandonment issues. *rolls eyes* I’m usually pretty good at pulling away and cutting ties first, before the other person can, and that has always worked for me. Every now and then the other person manages to leave first and it reinforces to me how I have to be more diligent and make sure I am the strong one who is leaving, not the weak one who is left behind.

But there are two people, one who left but is coming back, and one who is leaving soon, that are part of my treatment team, and the changes are really fucking with me.

My case worker disappeared ages ago. So long ago I don’t even remember for sure when she left! It sort of didn’t matter, since I was seeing someone else one-on-one, and already set up for my next group. I really only see her at the end of an 8 week group where she and I have a debrief and she tells me what group I go in to next, or I guess I could reach out to her in distress or with a question but I never have. She was co-running the group I am in now so her leaving meant someone else came in, but it is someone I know and am used to so I didn’t mind that she was there. What I did mind was that a different doctor, let’s use the initial M for her, was all of a sudden everywhere. She was co-running the drop-in instead of my case worker, she was co-running my core group, she randomly phoned me one week to talk about the core group, she had someone else come speak to me after drop-in because of something I had written on a check-in form we fill out at the end of our weekly group session. Seriously, I can’t get away from M if I try, and it was like she was taking the place of my case worker, and I don’t like that.

I don’t like that she left. I don’t like that some other person seemed to just step right in and take over all her stuff. I don’t like that nobody tells us anything so I have no idea if or when she is coming back. She could be dead for all I know.

Then this past week I find out she is coming back in the next week or so…and it seems I don’t know how I feel about that. She just left, out of nowhere. And now she is just allowed to waltz back in and resume where she left off? Does this mean she is still my caseworker? She doesn’t even know what I’ve been doing these past months while she’s been away. I don’t know if I want to deal with her again because I have trust issues and it took a lot for me to tell her anything and trust her to what extent I had been able, and then she left, and now what, she’s back so I’m just supposed to automatically trust her again? Or still?

I dunno. It’s weird to me.

The other person, let’s call him B, is the counsellor I see for one-on-one sessions. He is technically a student, doing his practicum work, and he is done in three weeks. This is even more stupid, because I knew all along he’d be gone somewhere around April, I knew he wasn’t a permanent part of my treatment team, but he has also been the most helpful person to me, the most supportive person in my journey, my time with him has had more impact on my recovery than any of the other groups combined. Which is kind of funny considering I signed up to meet with him thinking I’d meet with him once, not like it, and back out but feel ok about it because at least I tried. But it turned out I didn’t mind talking to him, and in fact, my sessions with him have become a huge touchstone in my week and I will be lost without them.

I know he is leaving. I have always known he was going to leave. I didn’t think I’d get attached to him, but I did. And I don’t know what I am going to do once our one-on-ones are over. I know he isn’t a friend, he is my counsellor, but he is the only person I speak with, who doesn’t have an eating disorder, who knows I have an eating disorder, who I can talk openly with about whatever I want. I can tell him flat out I need help figuring out if something I am thinking is messed up or normal. I have had him pry information out of me on days I am shut down and not able to access my emotions. He has seen me confused, sad, pissed off, and I know that is his job, I know him being there and helping me through shit is because it is his career, not because we are friends hanging out, but I feel like I am going to miss having him around the way I miss having a friend around. There will be a noticeable absence in my life, my routine, and in this case, my mental health support system.

I don’t want him to go, even as I want him to graduate and go do awesome things.

I don’t deal well when I lose people. If they come back it takes me even longer to trust them again. When they leave it affects me not just on the surface, but right down to my core beliefs, because their leaving reinforces all the negative shit I feel about myself, all the negative outlooks I have on life, society, everything.

I know it is messed up. I know that I knew the whole time he would be leaving. I stupidly let myself get used to having him around and I actually started relying on him, and now I don’t know what to do. How am I going to cope? If it was anybody else leaving I’d be talking to him about how to cope but I can’t very well go to him about this. I can already feel myself shutting down as a defence, to help stop or block the hurt I know I will feel when he is really gone. I am getting moodier, more depressed, not laughing or talking as much, withdrawing from everything, getting more aggressive, more sarcastic, binge eating more, then restricting more. All sorts of things that are manifestations of how unhappy I am are popping up and I don’t really give a fuck.

I’m becoming more anti-social? Who cares, it is how I am normally anyways. This whole making friends thing was an anomaly that wasn’t going to last anyways.

I’m talking less? Participating less? So what, I don’t need people to talk to, or groups to participate in. I’m fine on my own, always have been, always will be.

I’m relying less on my support system? I should be. Support systems are for losers, for wimps, for cowards, who can’t face the world alone. I am alone, I am strong enough to take care of myself because I am the only one who will.

Deep down I’m confused and sad? Screw that. Bury those emotions, squash em down until you don’t feel them anymore, they are a waste of energy and make me weak.

I hate this. I hate that I used to not be aware of shit like this, I just was how I was, and now I am more aware but still completely incapable of handling the overload of emotions. So now I am overloaded on top of all the shit I am feeling, and vaguely aware that my coping mechanisms are not helpful to my recovery or to living a normal life, but again, don’t know how to not engage in them. So I’m aware that I’m sliding, but not equipped with enough skills to stop the slide.

This fucking sucks.


No one is watching me slide below street level

Barely alive


Do You Ever…

Do you ever have such a crap day that you feel sorry for your cat because he deserves such a better human than the one he got stuck with?

That was me yesterday. And still today.

I was spiraling over the past week but didn’t really notice. My descent in to depression was masked by my physical exhaustion caused by my new training schedule, working two jobs, and attempting to ya know, function like a normal person…by that I mean take out the garbage, wash dishes, the basics.

I got the shift I was supposed to work Sunday covered and I did nothing. I’m not exaggerating. I slept in, but not a good sleep. Got up. Made tea. Zoned out in front of YouTube. At some point made more tea, and continued with YouTube. I eventually switched to Netflix, so I guess that’s something. I had no interest eating but around 4:30pm figured I should probably take in something, so I had some soup, oh the excitement. *rolls eyes*

Eventually I showered and went back to bed.

I could feel the depression settled in my body, it was a physical weight I couldn’t escape. It was evident in my posture, my facial expression, my inability to think beyond how miserable I felt. There was nothing for me yesterday except misery. There wasn’t even any hope for escape from it, or motivation to move beyond it, it was everything I was, everything I thought I would always be.

I don’t know why it lifted a bit today, why I was able to function to some degree today, why I made it not only to work but also my drop-in group this evening. I didn’t make it to practice and I’m beating myself up about that immensely, but at the same time, I would not have been able to do any good out there and would have most likely injured myself from lack of focus and proper form.

Yesterday I restricted, not intentionally, it was just a by product of my depression. Today I have eaten two pastries, fries, and ice cream. Not all at once like when I binge though. It was spread out, so I guess it was consumed more like a normal person’s over eating, and not a binge? It was stupid. I didn’t want it, wasn’t feeling hungry, in fact was feeling kind of nauseous and not wanting sweet things, and yet, I ended up in a bakery. I hate myself. sigh.

I have no idea what tomorrow will bring. I only work one job tomorrow, so maybe I’ll be ok, but I do have two training sessions, so I’ll still end up physically exhausted, if not emotionally.

The depression is I, I am the depression. There is no escaping it, no true reprieve from it, just the knowledge that it resides in my bones, in my soul, in my brain, and will always be waiting to strike out and remind me who is really in charge.

I Can’t Even…

Every Friday, without fail, I go to the gym. I don’t think it is an ED thing so much as it is a time slot that fits well with my schedule and it became a habit to go then. That and I enjoy it.

With my one-on-one counselling we decided to change my workout plan a bit because after some delving in to shit in my head we discovered that while my weight workouts are enjoyable and don’t seem to feed my ED the cardio part of my workout does feed my ED. So as a challenge I shortened my cardio.

It sucked. I hated it. I felt like I was cheating on my workout. But I did it. I didn’t die or get instantly fatter and well, maybe it was a thing I could do again.

Thing is, the past 2 Fridays I go to the gym, I work out, then the next day or two I am sick. I mean, I am sick already, I’ve been battling a bug (or possibly two) for a couple weeks now and it seems that every time I work out after work it flattens me for a couple days. I work weekends and can’t afford to keep missing work because I am kicking my immune system in it’s ass with my workouts. I was toying with not working out tonight after work, in an attempt to be self-caring and all that crap, ya know, baby the body in the hopes it finally gets healthy again…well, as healthy as it can get considering how I eat I suppose. 😉

I was leaning on the side of still working out, because I didn’t want to miss my Friday evening workout – the gym is nice and quiet, it’s the best workout of the week!

And then shit went down.

There is a swinging door at work with the tiniest window and massive blind spots on either side. I was just about to push the door open, so my left foot was up mid-step, when another staff member pushed the door from the other side, really really hard. It smashed in to my foot, pushed my toes back really far, and as a bonus spilled the just made cup of tea I was holding so I burned my forearm.

Just. Fucking. Great.

Do you know how much paperwork is involved when a staff member gets injured? I do because I’m usually the person handing it over to the other staff members when they get hurt and threatening them with me in their face at every moment of their next shift if they don’t fill it in asap and get it back to me.

I’m not worried about the burn, I sometimes self-harm (real winner of mental health over here!) and my chosen method is burning, so I know how to handle that just fine.

My foot though is another story. The more I walked on it at work the more it hurt. Even when I sat and rested it, it hurt. By the time I got home my limp was pretty impressive. I had a shower, propped my foot up, and have been babying it all night. It still hurts though, which sucks balls.

The bigger problem for me though is…I didn’t go to the gym.

Now, ok, part of me, a teeny tiny I think rational part of me, is saying it is fine I didn’t go. In fact it is probably good I didn’t go because I would have definitely made the foot worse.

The larger part of me is saying I am a failure for not going. If I was really dedicated, if I really wanted to get to my goal, if I really cared about my fitness levels, if I really wasn’t a loser, or lazy, or pathetic, I would have pushed through and gone to the gym. Now I might as well give up. I will be a lame ass next week and find a reason to not go then too I bet, because that is what I am, a lazy, disgusting, fat, weak, loser who was just waiting for an excuse to not work out that they can then use for weeks and weeks until it was like they never went to the gym. This is the beginning of the end. May as well give up now.

I couldn’t get my brain to shut up. It was circling with these thoughts, I couldn’t make them go away, I couldn’t fight them, all I did was believe in them. Whole heartedly, 100%, believe them.

So I ate.

I ate my feelings away. I squashed them down under ice cream and cookies. I ate and I ate and I ate and for a little while my brain was quiet. All the insults, all the stressing, all the fear, it all went away. Then after a brief, too brief, quiet moment in my head, it was all replaced by guilt over what I ate, shame over letting myself go, horror at how much I ate, disgust at how much of a pig I am, hatred over my actions, realization that I am not dedicated, I am not strong, I am not a fit or on the way to being a fit person.

I am nothing.

I am a slob of a person who literally ate their feelings in to submission, only to be swamped by new, worse, feelings. Feelings that I earned, that I deserved, because our actions show what we truly want. Our words can say anything, our actions are what we should pay attention to. And my actions showed who I really am.  All the horrible things I am.

I say I don’t want to be those things, but if I truly didn’t want to be them I would have sat with the first batch of uncomfie feelings rather than indulge myself, eat all that food, and now have to deal with the consequences.

I am glad I got injured tonight, I deserve the pain. I deserve every pound of weight I gain. I deserve every stomach ache I get. I deserve every single drop of guilt I feel. I did this to myself, I deserve punishment.

And trust me, tomorrow, it will be meted out.


Last work week (I work Fridays through Tuesdays) I got exposed to a plethora of germs because people at work decided that even though they were sick, like, super sick, they’d still come to work because “I never get sick, it isn’t that bad”…only to have to leave early because of just how sick they were.

I really, and I mean reeeally, hate when people come to work sick.

Keep your freakin germs to yourself people!


When I was leaving work Monday I was feeling it, the sore throat, the sniffles, the tiredness. Definite signs I was getting sick. I ran errands instead of going to the gym like I had planned and stocked up on DayQuil, kleenex, throat lozenges, the apple juice mentioned in a previous post, and Vitamin C drops.

A sick person’s survival kit!

I didn’t end up as sick as the others though and stupidly thought I’d managed to escape the horrible-wish-I-was-dead version of this illness. Now I think I might have just been incubating it and it is about ready to make itself fully known…just in time for my new work week. Fuck.

I spent Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday taking things easy. I mean, I still had things to do (a work shift Tuesday and two appointments Wednesday in regards to my eating disorder recovery) but other than those things I stayed at home, read books, cuddled with the cat, and tried to let my body rest.

Oh, and I took AirBorne, I swear by that stuff.

Wednesday I thought I was pretty much better and I’d be able to go to the gym Thursday, Thursday came though and omg I think I am getting worse. My voice is kinda going. My sinuses are doing worse (plugged and runny nose at the same time, super annoying!), I’m cold, can’t focus, basically a lot of the symptoms of, oh I don’t know, a sick person.

So tomorrow, because I can’t find someone to cover my shift I will be that person who goes to work sick, and spreads her germs. Ugh.

In regards to my eating disorder, getting sick like this does not help me at all. Well, unless you listen to my eating disorder, it is practically doing hand stands because of how little I am able to eat when sick.

Even when not sick I suck at following a meal plan but I try to eat twice a day…which depending on where you are in recovery sounds like not enough or way too much. To me it still sounds like too much, but I try really hard to manage it. It took a while to build up to that much food in one day and I don’t really like it, shrug.

When sick any thought of following a meal plan basically goes right out the window. My appetite disappears, nothing tastes right, I have even less interest in food. Most of my brain thinks these are all great things but the part of me that is learning shit in recovery knows that these aren’t great things.

My ed brain says:

Eating broth and drinking tea is a totally acceptable thing to do. One bowl of broth is definitely a days worth of calories.

My recovery side says:

Not enough food dumb ass.

My ed brain says:

You’re sick, you don’t have to eat when you’re sick. Don’t worry about it.

My recovery side says:

The less you eat the harder it is for your body to get better. You need nutrients to get better. Eat something!

My ed brain says:

If you’re going to eat something then you’re going to ruin all the benefits of being sick. Think of how quickly you’re losing weight right now. Think of how easy it is because you don’t have an appetite because you’re sick. Why throw that away? Be strong! Don’t eat! You don’t need food! But if you do eat then you might as well binge because you’re a failure, a loser who can’t manage the simple task of not eating. You don’t deserve to be skinny. You don’t deserve to get to your goal. If you’re going to eat then eat something ridiculous, something high calorie, something that will make you feel bloated, and overly full, and gross, because you deserve to feel all those things if you eat, because you failed.

My recovery side says:

It says nothing. Because it is barely a whisper in my mind on my best days and it can’t stand up to my ed brain when it is on a roll.

So here I am, sick. I did manage a meal the other day that had all 4 food groups in it. A small meal. Probably it is classified as more of a snack, but to me it is a meal. And a win.

Today…not so much.

Today I ate soup, though I had two bowls instead of one, which I guess counts for something. And I had some bread, because I am weak and I like bread…but is it weak that I like bread and choose to eat it or is it ok to eat something I like, in moderation…I question this but I know what I feel the answer is, it is weak, and I am weak for eating the bread. Just because I like it doesn’t mean I should eat it. I like a lot of things I don’t eat anymore. Bread is useless calories, unnecessary food, I should really get rid of it, sigh.

I weighed myself today and am down 3 pounds in three days. Which the majority of me is thrilled about, but also terrified I will screw up and as a result of the terror my brain has been screaming at me all day to not eat ever again or those three pounds will pile back on with a whole bunch more. But ya know what, I ate the soup anyways, so fuck you voice!

Oh god, I don’t mean it, I do mean it, I don’t know what I mean. I’m so confused.

I don’t want to be a lost cause to my recovery team. I don’t want to be one of those people who they feel is beyond their help and is let go so someone more deserving can be given help. I think I am one of those people though, and they’ll figure it out soon, and I’ll be left alone to deal with what is in my head, and I will fold to the ed and stop fighting even the small amount I am fighting, and I’ll be screwed.

You know, this post was going to be about how I lost three pounds in three days and isn’t that so great? But apparently I have other shit on my mind right now…who knew something could be bigger in my head then a lower number on the scale? This cold must be really messing with my brain. *rolls eyes*

My Line

Everyone has a line that when they cross it they go “shit, this isn’t good, I’ve gotta fix this”. Or something to that effect. I crossed my line so accidentally that I didn’t realize I had done it until the damage was done.

And now I feel I have to do something about it. Well, sorta. I felt more strongly about needing to do something about it yesterday, when the pain and injury were worse, today, as it is healing and less painful I’m not quite ambivalent but close to…I imagine tomorrow I’ll be even less inclined to take action…I wonder if eventually my line will move?

Maybe that is how it happens…you cross your line by accident, have a day of “gotta fix this shit”, then the next day comes, you realize the world hasn’t ended and you’re still able to function and are less worried, and over time your line moves, so that next time you get to that same point that caused panic only yesterday you don’t even feel a twinge of worry.

That should be unsettling, but I sorta don’t care…

This probably doesn’t make any sense, lemme explain.

I don’t cut myself, that’s not my thing, but I do burn myself, which when written down like this sounds horrible but it really isn’t. I make sure to not burn so bad I will scar, or impede my ability to function, I don’t burn myself where people will see, it’s not a big deal.

Except apparently it is? At ED recovery it got discovered by my case worker and my dietitian and they didn’t take it well. Not that they freaked out or anything, but it became this thing that required more meetings and talking, and it is what ended me up having to go see the shrink. They take it way more seriously than I do.

A couple months ago I burnt my arm more than intended, second degree, and ended up with a small scar. It is annoying and I don’t like it. I have extensive first aid training so I am able to competently tend to my own burns, but even with tending, I got that stupid scar.

I told myself I wouldn’t do that again. I wouldn’t second degree burn myself again, I’d not take the risk of another scar.

Notice I don’t actually care about being injured or what it is doing to my body, it is pure vanity driving this decision. That and if my case worker notices I am bandaged up again it might open up more intense discussions etc and ugh, no thanks!

Well, two nights ago I accidentally second degree burned my arm, different spot, but still…not good. I didn’t mean to, I swear! And I didn’t realize how bad it was until Friday morning when I was at work, I scratched my arm and hit this massive blister that is surrounded by smaller blisters and a hella lot of red skin.


So I tended to it.

Today when I took the bandage off to wash the wound I discovered that the freakin massive blister that was hard only yesterday has burst (I probably bumped it and didn’t realize) so my chance of a new scar is pretty high. Oh, and infection, the chance of infection has increased also.

Yesterday, after discovering it, I was upset. Upset with myself for doing this. Even though it was by accident I was still upset. I don’t want another scar. The blisters are in a spot that make it easy to bump and cause more pain. I’m going to have to wear long sleeves for at least a week to keep the bandage hidden. Basically, I am upset because this injury will affect my day-to-day life for 3-14 days (depending on speed of healing). It is one thing to burn myself when the damage is minimal and I am not affected the next day but this, this is affecting me and I am annoyed by it.

The whole being upset thing caused me to seriously think about my whole burning myself deal and I was motivated to want to make changes to stop the burning. I didn’t know what to do and I just kept thinking I should talk to my case worker, tell her what I did, tell her I want to change, ask her for help. I don’t want to go on meds but maybe there is something else that can be done.

Today, with the blisters healing, the pain less noticeable, my being over 24 hours from the time of injury, I care less about stopping myself from doing this again. I am more inclined to think that since this was an accident it doesn’t really count and what is the big deal, don’t blow things out of proportion, stuff like that…which may be my brain trying to rationalize irrational behaviour so as to stop me from recovering (and if that doesn’t sound like a sentence made by someone who is in treatment I don’t know what does! lol)

But yeah, I crossed my line by accident, and now I’m wondering if my line will end up moving as a result…something to ponder as I go re-bandage my arm. *rolls eyes*


I feel like I am at war with myself and I don’t know which side I want to win.

Lots of people talk about the whole eating disorder voice, how you have this voice in your head that tells you what you can and can’t eat or how much to exercise, or whatever – it is different for everyone.

But…I don’t really get that, I’ve never connected with that whole “voice in my head” thing. The choices I want to make, the rules I have about food and exercise, the way I look at food, it doesn’t sound in my head like a different voice trying to take over, it sounds like my voice, my thoughts, my choices, it is just me. Plain ‘ol me. Not some internal demon trying to take over.

I am the one making the decision to eat, or not eat, and if I do eat deciding what I will eat. I am the one in control. I don’t feel at the mercy of some voice in my head.

Sometimes this makes me wonder if I don’t really have an eating disorder, because I don’t identify with this idea of having a voice that sounds different than mine in my head.

This uncertainty, combined with my natural defensiveness and instinctive rebellion against authority is making this whole recovery deal a bit hard to grasp, or believe in.

Hence the war.

The dietitian I am seeing wants me to eat certain amounts of certain food groups daily, spaced out on a loosely timed schedule.

I don’t like it.

But do I not like it because I don’t agree with the plan on a nutritional level, or because I don’t like being told when and what to eat, or because I am feeling judged for how I do eat and feel like being given this framework to follow is a set-up for showing how flawed my choices are? They are all viable options for answers.

Every time I try to follow the plan the dietitian made I fail. Actually, not true, I managed it for two days, and I became permanently bloated, my abdominal area was distended, my stomach hurt all the time, I was miserable, so I stopped. I had to stop, what she wanted obviously wasn’t working. There is a flaw in her plan and no point in continuing with it when it is doing me damage.

That is my rational reasoning behind not doing what she wants.

I feel she won’t agree with that reasoning though…

This is getting off topic, mostly because I don’t really know how to put in to words what I am feeling, sigh.

I feel…


I feel like I am at war, with myself, with my dietitian, with my case worker, with the world. I feel like I know what I want to look like and all I really want is help getting there but instead I have people trying to sabotage me and take me in the other direction.

I am getting fatter every day. I’m scared to step on the scale but I can see the fat in the mirror. I am losing some of my bones. I am getting rounder. I am contemplating joining a gym again even though I can’t afford it because winter is here and I won’t be able to run outside soon. I am terrified all the time, terrified to get dressed because any day now my clothes won’t fit. Terrified to look in the mirror because I am so fat and disgusting. Terrified people are going to start commenting on how big I am getting. Terrified my recovery team will somehow force me in to eating more – I’m not sure how they could, I’m out patient, and an adult, so they can’t force admit me, but the fear is there. I am terrified to be left alone near food because I feel I’m losing control and will just eat everything visible if given the opportunity. I am terrified that I’m losing my willpower. I’m terrified that I’m going to hurt myself again even though I said I didn’t do that anymore and I always keep my word. I’m terrified I’m going to get so desperate I’m going to pull out my laxatives and diet pills again, even though I said I’d stopped using them, because desperate times call for desperate measures. I’m terrified for the chest pains that come with the using of the pills, I’m more terrified that every day I am more and more ok with the chest pains coming back if it means the pills are working.

I am terrified.

And I hate it.

This battle is internal, and I don’t feel it is against some weird outsider voice that is in my head, it is against my own voice. The battle is me against me, the weak me and the strong me. The me that wants to be skinny badly enough she’ll do anything to get there, and the me that forgets the end goal and caves when she sees a pastry.

Why is how I think about food so wrong? Why am I supposed to look at it as fuel, or enjoyable, or as something that makes me healthy and strong? Why can’t the way I see food be ok?

If the things I think about food are my own thoughts, not some random voice’s thoughts, how do I know which is the right or wrong choice to make? When I think “I ate twice today, that is plenty, no more food for me” it seems like a perfectly rational decision. A decision that is my own. Not an invasive thought from my eating disorder. Just like when trying to follow the nutrition plan the dietitian gave me I struggle with doing what she wants because my thinking doesn’t align with hers and why is my thinking wrong and hers right?

I know I am not making sense, I told you I don’t know how to put what I am feeling in to words *rolls eyes*

Maybe I’ll figure out a better way to describe what I am feeling another day, shrug.

For now I guess I’ll just stay confused and at war.

Just Stop

Can people I know just stop dying, please, for like a week or so, because seriously man, I need time to catch up on all the grief I am feeling…or should I say trying to not feel cause who has time to grieve when people keep dying?


I feel like a selfish brat being all me-me-me while people are dying but ya know what, they don’t feel anything anymore, it is the people left behind who have to figure out how to process all the shitty feelings and some days there is just too much to process and you end up wanting to shut your eyes, cover your ears, and yell out la-la-la-I-can’t-hear-you! until it all goes away.

Ironically, the person has already gone away, forever, it is the feelings that won’t go anywhere until you either stuff em down with food, or alcohol, or drugs, or some other numbing system or you, ya know, deal with them…which is not a thing I know how to do.

Normally I am dealing with one dead person at a time so while it sucks balls it doesn’t overwhelm like now. But right now I’ve got one dead person, one going to die any minute person, one grieving person because someone they know died, and one more person who could go either way (dead or back to some semblance of living, though the quality of life they would have is suspect).


I know I’m coming across as glib but that is the only way I can deal right now. I have no appetite, but when I am around food I find myself eating out of reflex since usually I manage high emotional situations with binges, so I’m trying to stay away from food so I don’t mindlessly binge. I don’t mind the restricting, I could definitely use some low cal days to counteract some higher cal days last week, and the week prior, aaaaaand ok fine, the week before that too.

My eating has not been on point ok?

Now it is getting worse and I kinda don’t care. Thanks to some of the stuff I’ve learned in recovery I sometimes know the choices I am making aren’t the right one, or the healthy one, and I sometimes stand in the kitchen and think “the dietitian would want me to do this” but then my brain goes “but you’d rather do that” and more often than not I go with what I want, not what my dietitian would want, cause ya know what, it’s my life and should be my choice and her choices are making me fatter, so fuck that.

I know the mere act of living involves dealing with death, and yes I know there is no getting around that, but oh man does it suck. And going back to the selfish thing, I could really use a bit of a break from the death part of life, even if just for a short amount of time, if only to stop me feeling like I am drowning and can’t get my head above water for anything beyond a quick desperate gasp of air.

drowning 2