I get off the phone and put my hand over my mouth and sob. I had barely made it to the end of the call before letting loose. Pretending to be fine. But I'm not fine. I stare at myself convulsing in the mirror, bloodshot eyes that spill out tears.
"Look at you," I think. "So ugly and worthless." I had done it again. Eaten when I should not have. Too much. I feel miserable. Just as miserable as I had before I binged. If anything, worse. Guilt and shame course through my body, and I feel it in waves like heat.
I had felt so worthless and rejected and unloved before the phone call. But the phone call . . . it made me feel bewildered and tormented. Because now I am confused. Why were my friends caring about me? Is it fake? Is it real? It can't be real. My friends don't really care about me and what I'm doing. They don't care if I'm there or not. I add no significance to their lives or to anything. Sure, my two closest friends care. I can force myself to believe they do for most of the time. But everyone else? I don't know . . . I don't know . . . I just feel confused.
I clap my phone onto the sink top and turn and stare at the toilet. Should I? I never have before. I know it isn't right. Not because I think "oh, this is wrong," but because I have read that throwing up only eliminates half of the calories. And it's bad for your health. It's not even worth it. But all the calories I had just consumed . . . I feel so worthless and awful. What is wrong with me? Oh yes, what is wrong with me indeed?
I find myself rushing to the toilet like a madwoman. I lift the lid and lean over it, shoving two fingers into the back of my throat. I have read how to do this. You use two fingers, and if that doesn't work, three. I gag several times from my fingers, but each time I fail to bring up my food. Then I just stand there, panting, tears dripping off my face into the toilet, hands on my knees.
What was I doing? How have I let myself even get this far?
Oh God, what have I become?
I know this isn't how I'm meant to live. It's not who I'm meant to be. But I feel stuck, like a hamster in a wheel that keeps running and can't get out. Every day I try again but I keep falling back. For every small victory, there is a bigger fail.
Tired, so tired. Every day the same story. Every day is day 1. Will I ever get better? Will the race ever be over? I hate it. I want a break. I want to sleep for a long while and wake up rested and ready to fight again.
Because right now, I am tired. Tired of the fight. Ready to give up. Yet still unwilling. Oh God, I pray for Your strength. Because I can't do this. Not me. Not alone.
"Look at you," I think. "So ugly and worthless." I had done it again. Eaten when I should not have. Too much. I feel miserable. Just as miserable as I had before I binged. If anything, worse. Guilt and shame course through my body, and I feel it in waves like heat.
I had felt so worthless and rejected and unloved before the phone call. But the phone call . . . it made me feel bewildered and tormented. Because now I am confused. Why were my friends caring about me? Is it fake? Is it real? It can't be real. My friends don't really care about me and what I'm doing. They don't care if I'm there or not. I add no significance to their lives or to anything. Sure, my two closest friends care. I can force myself to believe they do for most of the time. But everyone else? I don't know . . . I don't know . . . I just feel confused.
I clap my phone onto the sink top and turn and stare at the toilet. Should I? I never have before. I know it isn't right. Not because I think "oh, this is wrong," but because I have read that throwing up only eliminates half of the calories. And it's bad for your health. It's not even worth it. But all the calories I had just consumed . . . I feel so worthless and awful. What is wrong with me? Oh yes, what is wrong with me indeed?
I find myself rushing to the toilet like a madwoman. I lift the lid and lean over it, shoving two fingers into the back of my throat. I have read how to do this. You use two fingers, and if that doesn't work, three. I gag several times from my fingers, but each time I fail to bring up my food. Then I just stand there, panting, tears dripping off my face into the toilet, hands on my knees.
What was I doing? How have I let myself even get this far?
Oh God, what have I become?
I know this isn't how I'm meant to live. It's not who I'm meant to be. But I feel stuck, like a hamster in a wheel that keeps running and can't get out. Every day I try again but I keep falling back. For every small victory, there is a bigger fail.
Tired, so tired. Every day the same story. Every day is day 1. Will I ever get better? Will the race ever be over? I hate it. I want a break. I want to sleep for a long while and wake up rested and ready to fight again.
Because right now, I am tired. Tired of the fight. Ready to give up. Yet still unwilling. Oh God, I pray for Your strength. Because I can't do this. Not me. Not alone.
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