No I can't really say that this is. The beginning I mean. When for as long as you can remember there has always been something wrong with you. The mirror is my enemy, I fight back the urge to pound my fist at it's optical illusions.
I am married, and for the most part on the outside live the perfect life. I have a career, I have my own house, my own car. Those things don't matter do they? I've always said I hated materialistics, because no matter how much I have, I can't seem to break away from what I love to lose. My obsessions will eventually destroy me.
Current weight: 114.4
Body fat 16%
Water weight 60%
Lowest weight: 114
Highest weight: 136
Height 5'6
I'm finding out that my old time friend Mr. Laxi is coming back to haunt me in a very unflattering way. I can't have a bowel movement with out some sort of assistance. Miralax, metamucil, Phillips...I've tried them all. I'm going to have to have to have surgery in 6 weeks. To those who don't know abusing laxitives causes hemrroids. I told you it wasn't
flattering.
The funny part is, is even that isn't even enough for a wake up call. I haven't ate all day, and don't intend to. I've been drinking water and coffee all day. Aderals are my new best friend due to the fact they keep my anxiety and hunger at bay. My husband begged me to eat last night, and yes I really didn't feel good. I think though he's finally after 5 months and 10 pounds later, realizing that maybe there's a problem here. I have no ultimate goal weight. With each pound lost is a small victory. I stopped making goals, because creating new ones was exhausting. I just want to wake up in the morning and weigh less than the day before. Point blank.
This is my high. I don't drink. I don't do drugs. THIS is my escape from reality. This is my secret. Though some people have been let in recently due to my mental breakdown the other day. It's mine. It's MY problem. My burden. I don't want help. I like to release the tormoil it cost bottling up these motives, but it's not fair to do that to my family and my friends. They've been through enough. I've always been the rescuer, not the rescue-e.
I have lost a lot of myself these past 2 years. I use to love to write. It was my escape. I haven't penned down any of my emotions in so long. I've almost forgotten how therapeutic it can be. I got tired of constantly writing about my troubles with bulemia. Every entry was about purging. Sometimes I would purge just so I could have something to write about. So I boycotted my journal. Ashamed of what my children might read one day.
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