And the world keeps turning

My body is infuriating. My period is 16 days late (best test ever to fail: pregnancy test). I was full of shit for about 2 weeks. I gained weight. Acne is taking over my face. Rashes are happening all over my body. Fever blisters are bubbling up on my lip. It’s all embarrassing and awful. I want to stay in bed and cry until it’s all over; until my body calms the fuck down and starts functioning like a healthy human body. I want the world to stop until I’m healthy.

I’m trying so hard. Am I doing everything wrong? I have no idea. All I want to do is cry. All I can do is try. I won’t give up. Giving up will make everything worse.

I’m upping my intake which I think might help the lack of period situation. And boost my metabolism which will help with all muffin that is going on in my top. And thunder that’s raging in my thighs. And bulgy that’s going on in my hips. I’m starting to take probiotics and L-Glutamine which, so far, are improving my shituation. I’m also hoping this will improve my acne as long as I keep my diet clear of gluten, dairy and…alcohol. Eating more may also help the rashes. From getting more fat? I’m guessing/hoping. I have no idea. The fever blisters…are a matter of time. I just keep my lip slathered with carmex and abreva.

Time. My cousins engagement party is this saturday. And I’m gonna have grossness on my lip all front and center and look at me! So embarrassing. This party also makes it difficult to increase my intake because I’ve been drilling “less calories is better” into my head since forever. I’m afraid that I’ll gained 20 lbs by the time of the party. 

BIGPICTUREBIGPICTUREBIGPICTURE.

Massa Recovery! I am your Grasshopper.

Along with eating more calories. Which I am still struggling with. I don’t even want to count my calories today cuz I’m pretty sure they will not be sufficient. Since this ED weaseled it’s way into my life eventually taking over I have become more and more secluded. Which is saying something since I have never been Ms. Popular Butterfly. Things began to change last year and now it seems they are gaining momentum.

ED definitely makes for a moody brood (and moody cocks too but that’s another story). I’ve noticed that my moods are way better these days, more stable. It makes it easier to socialize even when I’m not feeling super social it’s way easier to fake it now a days. I’m communicating more with my friends and family and, naturally, this leads to “let’s get together!” It’s also easier to not eat shitty foods because of my skin but I’m still a lush. Cheers! 

Speaking of Cheers and socializing. I was butterflying on New Years Eve and I met a guy. We’ve been texting since and the occasional phone call. He is suppose to come out on Saturday. And then he text and said his friends were getting together on Sunday and would I look to come too. So now we’re basically spending the weekend together. I guess. I don’t know if Sunday is in lieu of Saturday. I hope not but you know I over think and try and think of all the possibilities! Ever. In the world. I’m actually looking forward to hanging out with him and seeing how things go.

But then…not. My body is a mess. I have “eliminated” in a week and a half. I’m full of shit. And I’m 10 days late on my period. There is a small chance. I’m hoping that it’ll show up during the weekend. The wifey poses the possibility of my calorie intake not being sufficient and that is what is throwing things off. Let us hope. And pray. And do rain dances and shit cuz HOLY HELL. And the worst part about all this shituation is-oh wait…is not actually the worst part. Whatever! The problem is my fatness! I’m bloated as fuck! My belly protrudes like I’m 10 and a half months pregnant with shit baby! And the rest of me is complying with chub and bloat.

I know it’s not the worst part. Not really. My weight shouldn’t matter. My ED addled mind is screaming! RESTRIIIIIIICT!!! EXERCIIIIIIIISE!!! And then there is recovery, logical, stern and calm. Recovery is in it for the long run. It sees the big picture. ED means being alone. ED smothers me into solitude. If I want the life that I want (with people in it!) then I’m going to have to suck it up and focus on being healthy. I’m going to have to try and get past the fact that I’m big and soft and try to look the best that I can get big and soft to look. And then forget about it and be thereThere as in, “in the moment.” (I listen and retain Wifey!)

Things are going well over all. I feel like I’m on the right track. My cousin is moving to Oklahoma to be with a guy. She feels stuck and needs a change and this man is offering her what she wants, and so she’s taking a chance. I’m happy for her. I was reflecting on our conversation later on while I was arts and crafting it up in my apartment and I thought again how I’m good. Sure, I wish I had more friends and I wish my body weren’t so fucked up and more money would be nice! But I’m so grateful for what I do have. My apartment. My relationships with family and friends. My relationship with my MOM (she drove me fucking insane before I moved out). My job. When I was caught up in ED these parts of my life were just…there, ignored and collecting proverbial dust. Now all these aspects in my life are improving and I attribute this to the lack of ED clogging up my brain space. Just imagine when ED is gone! GONE! GAAAAAWWNE!!!!!!

Resolution Parlay

I’m bulimic, right? So, I am all too familiar with “too many calories.” I feared recovery because of my appetite. I was afraid that I would become a fat hippo like I was before I got obsessed with dieting (which led to full blown bulimia). I got to the point where I couldn’t go more than a day sans vom. And “feeling full” was sounding more and more like something of fairy tales.

Last year my new years resolution was to work on getting healthy. Obviously, getting rid of my ED was the largest part of that. This year the resolution is the same only this year is a bit different. This year I have momentum. I survived the hardest part of the year-the holidays. Getting through those obstacles gives me hope. I even had pie (PIE!) and it didn’t derail me! 

That’s not to say I’m invincible. I’m still scared. Terrified. But hopeful.

Lately my problem is not eating enough. The mirror and my muffin top taunt me and fuck with my head. And, of course, the damage that ed has done to me-constipation. I feel fat and huge. I’m eating what feels like a lot of food and my calories are in this weird middle ground of too low for recovery and too high to be ED acceptable. Eating more feels like a chore. I’m stuffed and I’ve had 1334 calories.

How is this my problem?! Not too long ago I was consuming thousands in a sitting! No exaggeration. Granted, I probably digested only a fraction but good lawrd could I pack it in! These days I’m grumbling my ass to the kitchen for seconds after determining that my calorie intake is insufficient. It’s weird to be complaining about eating more.

I eat out of fear and hope. Hopeful for a better life. And I fear what restricting calories does. I hate feeling ravenous and insatiable and eating everything and then regretting it and vomming. That’s what gets me to eat more food. I can’t be the me that I want to be with ED. The holidays gave me a taste of better and I’m hungry for more.

Last year I also made moving out a resolution. Nailed it. This year I’m working on continuing to decorate. After getting a bonus I went a little nuts and bought a lot of things for my apartment (and some other indulgences). It felt good. Well…until I saw my credit card balance. But you know what? Fuck it. It feels good to come home to a place that is decorated. It feels comfortable. It feels…right.

My cousins came over and had lots of nice things to say about it. Of course, I feared the worst. I feared critical eyes and judgement. There was none of that. I’m so self conscious that I analyze the shit out of comments trying to find the hidden judgement. I couldn’t find it. And upon further thought I realized, I like my apartment. I like the things that I chose for it, it’s me and I’m proud of it.

Surviving the Holidays

Remember Thanksgiving when I opted out on all the goodies? Not so with Christmas. Not so. My aunt makes homemade apple pie! And homemade pumpkin pie! And my little cousin made cookies. Yup. Delicious. That pie was straight of the oven you guys! Warm! YES! I had a slice of each and ate a cookie for good sugar high measure. I considered puking it. Mostly because I can and so why not save myself the calories and sugar? Because it’s not healthy that’s why! Because I feel guilty and like shit when I puke! Because I’ve NOT been puking. Because one episode could result in catastrophe.

And so, I did not puke. Please applause for me. Thank you! I’m amazing.

But it’s not just Christmas, is it? That’s the holiday but it is a full month and a half of festivities and stress. So much stress. Stress of buying christmas gifts, food, dressing up, tolerating certain family members, social anxieties and did I mention buying christmas gifts? My mom and I had margaritas to celebrate the OVERness of Christmas because we stress the fuck out trying to find the right gifts for people. And we both wait until the last minute so that we can really feel the pressure of the Christmas deadline. That’s right, raising the stakes! So in the 3 days that I stressed over getting 6 people gifts I wanted to drown my sorrows away in a bottle of wine in lieu of dinner. I didn’t. I’m afraid to drink by myself. Alcoholism. It’s a slippery slope.

There is also tamale day. I passed with flying colors! Granted I was flying drunk but really I think I get all the more credit for not Nomming Out while I’m boozing. And there was the Christmas Luncheon at PF Changs for the office. Flying colors. It is getting easier for me to pass on the junk. The paleo-ish diet that I follow suits me well. It keeps me satiated. Satiated. This word was nonexistent last year before I started it. On Paleo I feel sane. I can eat and be done eating. UNHEARD OF RIGHT?!

I eat pretty much the same things all the time. When I’m eating like this my face is pretty clear and I sleep at night. I’ve learned that gluten, dairy, and alcohol = pimples. And lots of carbs and sugar = up all night peeing. It sucks but it actually works in my favor. Because I’m vain. And I like to sleep at night. And toilet paper can get expensive. Knowing this makes it easier to pass on the junk. It’s no longer “that’ll make me fat,” it’s confusing to think this way. There are so many conflicting diets and trying to recover from ED and the whole food thing is a confusing and frustrating. Now I think of food in terms of my face and it makes it easier to say no when there are pimples and redness on the line.

Except with alcohol. Slippery Slope.

The fact that alcohol fucks with my insulin issues (Dr. Google & Wifey) and also causes redness and little pimples is The Worst because I FUCKING LOVE IT. Tipsy Times are Good Times. And Good TImes eases stress. So, in other words, it’s practically medicinal. It helps with my social anxieties, shyness and it makes me Happy Pants. And the Tipsy Times are gonna keep on coming. I have Tipsy Time Events happening like every weekend for the next month or so. It’s medicinal. 2013 is going to be a healthy year.

It is sort of daunting. I still feel the pressure of ED. Mother fucking muffin tops get me down. I want to lose weight. I try to forget that alcohol has calories and focus on the fun but it’s still there in the background like a creepy stalker person lurking on the outskirts. I keep trying to stay focused on being healthy and let that weigh in heavily on my decision making. This shit is hard but my mind is a much easier place to be now compared to when I’m caught up in the NomVom cloud.

These efforty efforts are so efforty!

Fixing the ED addled body is the hardest job in the world. IN THE WORLD. It’s harder than a rubix cube. It’s harder than finding Waldo. And it takes longer than a day. (I have a problem with this in particular.) Apparently it takes about 1,095 days for the body to recover. And that’s a ballpark figure. There is all kinds of plusses and minuses on those days. Climbing Everest would be easier than this. Ordering pizza and b/ping the entire thing would be a lot easier than this. But you know who is up for the challenge? This girl. The fixy challenge, i’ve conquered the pizza more times than I’d like to admit.

 

I’m putting so much effort into getting healthy. Except seeing doctors because I’m too cheap and I don’t want to step on a scale. I think a scale may send me downward on an Emotional ED Spiral and in the fast lane cuz I’m a veteran. Dr. Google and me. I’m a doctor. That’s right. I have a doctorates in the studies of I’m Rightism, it takes a special kind of person to achieve this achievement. I’m thpeshal.

 

I am amazed at all the self inflicted damage that has been happening to my body. And it’s only half ignorant. I knew shit was going down, maybe, I just didn’t want to believe it. I’m astonished at how “it won’t happen to me” happened to me. And now I’m trying to climb out of this hole I’ve dug. I can’t even say with certainty that I won’t slip, that I won’t spiral. The minute I think I can say I’m probably a step away from the fall. I say that because that’s what has happened. I’ve had lots of streaks of “healthy” over the years and then I fall back to one.

 

Sometimes it feels like these streaks are trickery, a false victory meant give the illusion of control and build confidence that I can beat this. And then I think, “Well, I can dabble. Just this once. I already know I’m over it. I can control it. Just this once…” BAM! Face plant. As much as I am proud of all the minutes in a row that I put into recovering, I am equally scared of it.

 

I feel different about it this time. Although I want to binge and purge sometimes, I don’t feel like I’m teetering on the edge like I have in the past. A lot of this has to do with living on my own. When I lived with my mom it was different. She could through a wrench in my routine at anytime. It felt claustrophobic living with my mom. When I have a rough day now I have my own space. I have solitude. I have routine. I have only healthy food. No naughty temptations taunting me. Nothing to send me flying over the handle (i.e. surprise temptations, surprise guests…surprises).

 

It’s still very frustrating that I’m in the early stages of recovery. Bulimia is all about instant gratification followed immediately with [somewhat relievey] punishment. But this, this recovery thing is all about slow and steady and barrel rolling. Cuz y’know if you try to get out of the barrel roll too soon it fucks up the show and you have to jump off the train all over again. Or something. FUCK TRAIN JUMPING! LET’S BARREL ROLL Y’ALL! YES!! I digress. The time it takes to recover can be maddening, I am constantly reminding myself of the horrors of ED, to frighten, to humble.

 

It makes me want to cry what I’ve done to myself. All the damage that needs to be fixed is so uncomfortable and overwhelming. Everyday I am questioning and grasping for answers. “Dr. Google what is happening?” “Dr. Google how can I fix this?” What? Walk like an Egyptian and rub an avocado on my elbow facing East? Seems legit.

Hamster Wheeling Through Life

Having Lupus makes stress exponentially worse. I’ve agreed to do the diva dash (a 5k obstacle thing) and I have 3 months to get in shape. Last Sunday I worked out a little and the rest of the week was no bueno. Fatigue, body aches, soreness, cold sore, pressure in head, knots in my neck, random pains, stiffness, and general yucko feelings. In addition to the physical stress that happens to my body is the shananiganal emotional stress that may or may not be happening. I’m not sure. It’s subconscious. Maybe. If it’s there. I dunno. Probably maybe.

 

I wasn’t quite feeling up to taking the trip to visit the fam and make tamales. Okay, I didn’t want to put pants on. Whatever. Don’t judge. But I pants on’d and ventured out into the cold, cold world. I was feeling a little under the weather too. But I’m so glad I did. It’s cool not that I moved out that I actually enjoy visiting my family. My relationship with my mom is really good again. Pretty awesome.

Especially now that going home is like fucking christmas everytime! I’m totally loved and missed. My mom bought me Colonix 3 month detox kit thing (shit-tastic!), a lil christmas tree (2ft of fake cuteness!), some chicken and meat (free meals!), and she massaged the knot out of my neck (I can look over my left shoulder!). Granted, it wouldn’t be the most glam christmas but it’s the little things, right?

 

My cousins had some big announcements. C is betrothed to her boyfriend of 7 years and J is moving to Okla-fucking-homa to live with some dude she met on the internet. I am happy for them both. C will make a fantastic wife. And J is taking a leap of faith. I’m going to be the only one left. Single. No kids. I feel like my life is…pointless. I’m just moseying along through time and space.

Get married. Have children. That’s what we’re suppose to do, right? What if we don’t? Then we become the crazy cat lady on the corner. I dunwanna be a cat lady! I also don’t want to be stuck in a relationship that I’m in because I feel like it’s what I’m suppose to do rather than what I want to do. I am also terrified to have children and be a shitty mom. So then…what am i gonna do? Who am I gonna be? A fucking weirdo in the eyes of society, we all know that much.

 

Anyhow, despite all these cat lady fears I feel much better. I had a great visit with my family. We drank mimosas. I had skinny margaritas. Me and J smoke together. I ate the meat and chicken of the tamales with tomatoes. In other words, I did not binge. I did not purge. There were tamales and pan dulce, muffins, cookies and chips-OH MY!

 

I’m just gonna keep moseying and hope to stumble onto some magical treasures.

 

I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.

Too Much Tequila

Every now and again I get restless and do some stupid shit. Or embarrassing shit. Or both. It has been about 4 weeks since I binged and purged. I have been following a healthy diet, exercising at least 3 times a week, watching my spending and basically not doing much. I’ve been restless. I’ve been hormonal. It’s the holidays, a time I hate, a time that reminds me how empty and lonely my life is. I feel like a damn pressure cooker left on too long.

My ED, bulimia in particular, has usually been where this energy is…transferred. Not alleviated, as bulimia carries its stresses, as well. Lately, I’ve been feeling too much. Like there is too much inside me. I tend to drink too much when I feel too much.

I went to lunch with our office mates on Friday. Cadillac Margaritas were ordered. Cadillac Margaritas were had…hours later shenanigans ensued. I had a protein shake for breakfast, a greek yogurt with honey (only because it was bought *especially* for me), and a chicken salad at lunch. Too much tequila. Not enough food. I got wasted. It’s probably a good thing that my memory of the night is spotty. I’m so embarrassed of my drunkenness. Oh the shame.

Have you ever been in a similar situation? Sloppy & embarrassingly drunk? OR been around a friend or coworker who was embarrassingly drunk? Please share your perspective. Here or email me directly Flushedagain@me.com Any words of advice or stories to help me feel less shitty will be very thankful!

Oh wait. There’s more. Had sex with someone and 100% regret it. I finally get being so drunk that it just happens. The part of my brain that makes decisions was completely shut down. I know exactly what I was thinking. Nothing. There was nothing happening in my brain. No sense. No logic. Just Tequila. Never have I been in that situation before. Sure, I’ve slept with people that…maybe not the best decision but I made a conscious “fuck it” decision. Not this time. I was not there. The whole spotty memory is definitely a good thing for that span of time. I’d likely feel shittier if I remembered more.

2 drink maximum from now on. Spaced with water.

I was completely out of my mind and out of control that night. I kind of hate myself.

ALSO! This is what scares me. I need a healthy outlet. Or at least a steady booty call? lol (that is Wifeys perscription-I like it.) How am I do deal with all that I feel without bulimia? I don’t have coping skills! When I kick bulimia do I have alcoholism and sluttery to deal with?! FUCK.

Home Sweet Home

I’m back. The last post messed up. The paragraphs and paragraphs that I had written didn’t post for whatever reason. They were profound too. Grammar was good. Impeccable spelling.  It was a wonderful post, believe you me. That shit would have changed lives! Yup. Sure was…

So Florida was great. The weather was beautiful. The house was beautiful. I was fat and got fatter because my body hates me or something. The universe is like “Fuck you bitch, you’re status is fat girl.” all with a stank face. The universe is being my frienemy and I don’t like it. But you know what I say to the Universe? Good, cuz if you knew already that would be Creepy. I say to the Universe that I’m the fatty engine that will! That’s right! I’m persevering and, by golly, we are gonna be BFFs!

In Florida the food situation had it’s ups and downs. The bad part was the quantity that I ate. I had a lot of nuts and a lot of booze. I also had some big, fatty breakfasts. I try not to count the breakfasts against me too badly since my mom and stepdad don’t really do lunch. The lack of lunch is what I blame for the constant snacking on the nuts. Also, that nuts are delicious, natures doritos, I always say. And the booze…WHAT?! IT’S VACATION! DON’T JUDGE ME!!! But having at least one cocktail everyday was not kind to my body. I don’t like that booze and bloat go together. This needs to change.

All in all, I don’t think I did so badly. My stepdad made eggs with some type of meat every morning. I would usually through some kind of veggies together and a couple of hard boiled eggs for lunch. And dinners I would make a salad and there was always some type of fish or steak or pork…something. Wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t drank and noshed on nuts so damn much!

I’m pretty sure I gained weight. It could have been much worse. When the cheetos, cheez-its or other junk was out I didn’t touch it. I had no desserts. While everyone else was having Snickers pie (or something), key lime pie, cheesecake and pumpkin pie I was drinking tea or having another cocktail. All the weeks of eating basically paleo made it easier to continue to eat paleo throughout the vacay. So all in all I suppose it was fine. I’m still bitter that I’m fat and got fatter though. I just have to keep reminding myself that it could have been much worse. I could have been bingeing and gaining and/or purging. The one night I puked the room was spinning so I think I get a pass on that.

All in all, I’m pretty pleased with the vacation. Considering where I’m at in my recovery (not far) I feel like this was a huge step.

I also realize that no matter how much I climb out of this ED Hell Hole I can just as easily fall right back down. I’m still trying to be very careful and play it safe. I try and stay focused on my routine. As lovely as it was to vacation in Florida, breakfast and coffee ready for me after waking from a good nights sleep (seriously, I want that mattress-it was HEAVENLY!), boat rides to our fishing spots, shooting pool, reading, long walks under the stars… I’m glad to be home. I’m glad to be back into the comforts of routine.

Vacay is just around the bend.

My flight leaves Tuesday morning out of LA. But, really, it starts after work on Monday where my illusion of control disintegrates. That is how I see it, losing control. In the past 7 weeks or so I’ve had about 5 days of binging and purging. They were mostly controlled in terms of quality of food. Prior to that entire weekends were spent in the NomVom Fog. So, all in all, this is progress.

I’ve kept my sanity through routine. I eat mostly the same foods at about the same times, I drink a lot of tea and coffee, I watch a lot of TV, I read, and sometimes I exercise. Interspersed with writing-pen to paper-in a journal. Sleep and Repeat. There isn’t much outside of that routine since I’m on a tight budget there is no shopping or frivolous time spent. Even the prospect of hanging out with a friend equates to “spend money” to my mind. I’m a prisoner but adapted. And now I will be let upon the free world-the wonderous world of Vacation where champagne (*cough* carbs. sugars. *cough-cough*) for breakfast is encouraged-I’m scared.

Through much trial and error (and fattening error and fattening error) I’ve found out that I’m addicted to carbs which in the ED world is called a trigger. I basically practice abstinence aside from vegetables on carbs. I don’t even eat fruit (avocados and tomatoes notwithstanding). The elimination of glutton and sugars, of course, falls in this Carb Camp which is a good damn thing since they make me bloat and I suspect are cause of tummy aches. And then there is dairy. Dairy = Pizza Face. Both my mother and my hair stylist first words after “Hi” was the question of “What happened to your face?” So dairy is mostly out (haven’t had an issue with coffee creamer or super dry cheese).

If I were dealing with people who where privy to practice of Paleo or Primal dieting then I would be in the clear. Instead, I’m a picky, fatpants, über dieter. It’s embarrassing. I hate the attention of having a “different” or [worse] “special” diet. Especially, around the sweetest people who love to cook because they want to (a) that they are accommodating you and (b) that you are eating. I hate the attention. I just want to be a wallflower during food time. I even hate the “you’re so good,” I know all this is meant well, but it makes me so uncomfortable. Why? I wish I knew. I wish I would be over it. 

Also, I can and do eat an obscene amount of food. What would normally be a salad for a family of 4 is my regular lunch and/or dinner salad. I know that the volume of it is not necessarily representative of how many calories it caries but I’m sure that’s not what other people see. Not that I even count calories because keeping track of those numbers is triggering. I can’t see the gray in calories and food. It’s either ED or it’s too much, the healthy gray is lost on me.

I also eat on a schedule. There is no schedule in vacation land. You just snack to stave off hunger (or, let’s be honest, snack because your tipsy) until we get around to the next meal. I know that if I get to hunger it’s binge city when there is food in front of me. And if it’s carb food? Let’s just not go there…

I think I can be okay. My mom and stepdad are very accommodating. They know I’m weird about food. They want me happy and comfortable. We’ll go shopping and they’ll let me add whatever I please to the shopping cart. I’m sure we’ll be eating over with friends but I’m sure there will be some type of animal protein and vegetable to be had. Even on the boat my mom will make sure that she brings snacky food for me too. If I can keep my head straight I can be fine.

It’s me that I’m worried about. My own emotions fuzzing my focus and getting me thinking bingey purgey thoughts. It’s being too tipsy that might make me get the munchies. (Alcohol Abstinence is out of the question. I have a one word rebuttal: Vacation.) It’s fog that comes in when I fear I’ve eaten too much that urges purges. It’s seeing others eat all the foods that disagree with me and be smaller my frustrated mind screams “fuck it!” It’s me that I fear will fuck it up for me.

Will power is a muscle that must be exercised to strengthen. In my bubble-my prison-the will power is exercised in grocery stores and maybe the office, but even in those places I know what I’m there for. In grocery stores and even at home, I think of money wasted too, which is super helpful. There isn’t any of that in the Land of Vacay. Primary motivators out of the way, I’m going to have to rely on my secondary ones: health, not being puffy (ugly), and recovery. All this with the heightened stress of being out of my element. Wanting to be the best me so that I don’t embarrass my mom and stepdad with…my personality.

If I can stay calm and focused, with a healthy perspective I can get through this and have a great time. And not let my fears get the best of me.

Food Sucks

I spent the weekend with my mom. I missed her. She missed me. We had a good weekend, we hiked, made dinner together, window shopped, drank wine, talked and looked up at the stars. But there is just one thing…my eating disorder and her disordered eating.

I can’t say too much in the way of my mom having an actual eating disorder. She has definitely yoyo dieted all of my life. She admitted to being bulimic for a period of time and still may occasionally puke. It was years ago when she admitted this to me. I was a mess and finally admitted that I am bulimic (I’ve lied about it since) and she told me that on fathers day she ate too much and then puked. But there was a time that she was puking her food rather regularly. The duration and actual period of that time is still a mystery to me (TO THE MYSTERY MACHINE!-Shit! I need a mystery machine and a Scooby Doo.)

This weekend was a weird teetering of the balancing scales. Over the years the only consistency in my eating habits [in front of people] are they are inconsistent. I wouldn’t eat fat, a vegetarian, flirted with going vegan, various fad diets, back on the meat, no carbs, no sugar… and then the times where I’d fall off the wagon and binge on all the things that I would stick my nose up at. My mom always caters to me (probably because she knows how moody I will get if I can’t eat what I’m comfortable with). She waited until I can go with her to grocery shop for the rest of our dinner and snacks. We got everything I wanted and she added nothing to the cart for herself aside from beer.

We went wine tasting with hardly anything in our tummies. I had a protein shake and sunflower seeds, she had a hot dog with mustard. Outside the wine tasting place where cupcakes (something about Cupcake War people making them? Whatever.) and she looked at me, “should we get some?” The ball was in my court, she wanted to make me make the decision for her and, consequently, a decision for myself. I said no “I’m not really big on cupcakes, I’m more of a wine girl.” I said holding up the bottle and smiling at the Crack Cupcake Dealers. (Note: Totally truthful and the dude [Cupcake Dealer #2] was totes on my Wine Bandwagon) I could tell my mom was slightly disappointed and slightly glad.

Immediately following was lunch where she just wanted something small like an appetizer because she didn’t want to ruin dinner. It was 1, mind you, not 3 or 4. We drank ciders waiting for our [hour and a half] mediocre cobb salads. I gobbled mine up, she 2/3. I felt embarrassed at the comparison. For dinner we had wine (we’re winos DON’T JUDGE!) roasted red pepper soup with a little cheese melted in it (hats off to Trader Joes and their samples) followed by ribeye steak, salad and grilled vegetables. I made up salads on our plates she said she couldn’t eat all of that salad and put half back. Admittedly, I served HUGE salads because I forgot to account for the grilled veggies and I ended up just having the steak and salad. I finished my plate. “See look, I couldn’t even finish all that.” Again, I felt like a fatass. 

In the morning we had leftovers because my mom wanted the famous pie at the bakery that had a line going down the block. I agreed to pie, reluctantly but I knew she really wanted it. The pie was delicious and I tried not to feel guilty and tell myself that it was a normal thing to do and that I had eaten well all the rest of the trip. I hoped that I could just not eat/eat very little the rest of the day. That’s not how it turned out.

By the time we got back to my apartment she was hungry and wanted pizza or burgers. She made a face at my suggestion of salad. She said that if she went home now she’d probably get mexican food and pig out. I agreed to pizza, again, to please even though I wished she wanted salad instead. Ordering pizza I got a salad bar and let her choose whatever pizza. She pushed for an appetizer, I told her to get whatever she wanted. I had 3 slices of medium pizza, salad and one jalepeno popper (trying to pretend to be a normal person). She had 4 poppers and 5 slices of pizza.

I hated that I ate so much food all weekend [and digested it]. I told myself that I was being normal and pleasing my mom and promising myself that I would diet hardcore from Monday on out.

In 5 weeks we are going to be in Florida fishing and swimming in humid weather and I’d rather feel like a fat seal than blubbery walrus. I had quite a bit of weight on me, my clothes are tight and I’m generally uncomfortable with my body. I wish that I could say that it doesn’t affect my attitude, sociability and willingness to do things but it affects all of those things. And I don’t want to embarrass my mom and her boyfriend (17 years-he’s practically my stepdad) with my fat, unsociable self. 

My mom will eat small and/or “light” portions and try and stay away from carbs. She’ll go hours without eating and then make a face at salad and persist/insist we get an appetizer that’s fatty and fried. Restrict and binge, restrict and binge… we are both erratic with food and it’s not easy to be around her and not give in. If I would have said no apple pie she would have pouted and later it would be “S. wouldn’t let me get pie.” She thinks it’s cute making me the parent her the child. I hate it. I don’t want to be the parent. Why can’t she just do what she wants? Eat something or not without making me the bad guy or make me feel guilty and inhuman for not participating. I don’t like feeling either. No matter what choice I make I end up feeling shitty about it.

I hate that I have an ED. 

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