SHAME

Last night I threw up in a public park.

Let's rewind to how this whole mess started: I received a comment on my blog from Anise yesterday telling me to put down the cookbook. My jaw dropped. And I promptly closed my edition of "1001 Cupcakes, Cookies and Other Tempting Treats" and threw it across the room. I'm not kidding. How did she know? Anise, HOW DID YOU KNOW? And what the fuck am I doing having a book by that title? Pure insanity.

Anise, unfortunately, was too late. I was in fact perusing the book for a fourth recipe, having already baked THREE different batches of "tempting treats". I was staying with my parents and bonding with my mother over food. I had managed to avoid eating anything all day while I was baking except for vast numbers of carrots, cucumbers, celery and other phallic vegetables (OK, so I'm not saying a celery stick would make for a particularly awesome phallus, but the others maybe). So I was full and doing well but I KNEW the sugary baked comestibles would find their way in, and by evening time they did.

Then it was panic stations. Of course. I'd only had a few bits and pieces, maybe 500 calories worth, which was roughly my total calorie count for the whole day. Still, I couldn't possibly face the thought of those empty calories diving into my blood stream and I knew I had to puke. Which meant I had to eat MORE to make puking worthwhile. And which meant I had to LEAVE because I'm concerned my parents are maybe-slightly-possibly catching on to my vomiting (I mean, their daughter is wasting away before their eyes yet continues to visit to make and eat copious quantities of cake and pastry - what would YOU think?).

So I bundled up a box of goodies for my housemates (read: to eat in the car) and hurried out the door. On the way home I went via a Mcdonalds drive through to buy a mcflurry. I sat in the car park in the dark, mashed a cupcake into it then crammed it down with a few cookies. I probably had about 2000 calories in total, which isn't a disaster for me.

Then I started freaking out about how to throw up. I didn't really want to do it at home, because I'm worried my sister and housemates are probably cluing in along the same lines as my folks. I thought about the toilet in Mcdonalds, but worried they might expect me to buy something and I couldn't face the attention. I drove around for a bit and pulled over by a park. It was cold and dark with lots of trees and no other people. I wandered around until I find a nice big tree and I vomited in a huge neat pile beside it. Everything came up so neatly, easily, comfortably. The mcflurry was a calculated move to get ice cream amalgamated with my stomach contents, and it worked wonderfully. I washed my face and hands in a water fountain, then tottered back to my care in a dizzy haze.

Then it hit: shame


SHAME

My hands shaky on the wheel. My body limp, exhausted and aching from the effort of vomiting. Tears streaked down my face. The smell of it, caked inside my nostrils. The self-pity mingled with self loathing. On the brink of bursting into tears. I started fantasizing about the conversation I would have with the boy who likes me about how I can't be in a relationship because I have "issues" that I need to deal with in my life before I can really let anyone else in...

Then I had an epiphany: No. no no NO. That's not true at all. I don't want to be in a relationship with him because I don't LIKE him. The "issues" are just an excuse I'm using with myself to escape anything uncomfortable in my life. I don't ACTUALLY feel like bursting into tears. I feel sort of... proud. Relieved. Yes, my body is exhausted, but I was confusing physical feelings with emotional ones. My tear stained face was from throwing up, NOT crying. I was empty and clean now and on my way home. And some lucky dog would find istelf a delicious treat beside a tree in a park tomorrow!

I think the worst part of this disorder, and the most self-perpetuating part, is shame. And I think I only feel shame because it is what I think I SHOULD feel. Fuck it. Fuck shame. I knew what I was doing and I did it on purpose and it felt fucking great! I still know it isn't mentally or physically healthy, I still know I have to try and limit this behaviour, but it IS going to happen, and when it does I am going to resist the pressure to hate myself for it.

In other news, I was 52.4kg this morning. My goal of 52 by Wednesday then 50 by the 25th is looking imminently more achievable. Today I have to be careful. I don't think my body will let me throw up again. I think I may fast.

Be well, my lovlies,

FEEL NO SHAME

Pasco
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