I haven't officially seen my weight on a scale in over 6 months. I went from weighing myself when I woke up, before and after I used the bathroom, before and after I ate, and before bed to not at all. I still feel anxious anytime I step on a scale... whether it's Grace's (my nutritionist) scale or at the doctors. I know that as long as that number means something I have to keep going to treatment.
The treatment process feels like it's starting to get difficult again. Most days I think I'm doing okay. Like maybe I don't need therapy anymore. Then there are days that deliver such devastating blows; I feel like curling up in a ball and staying that way forever.
I have no one to talk to on those days. Except for Grace and Ann (therapist.) They are great but at the same time it feels pathetic and kind of weak to not be able to say anything to anyone. I've tried to speak about it to people who love and support me but they can't seem to wrap their heads around it. I just feel like a problem sometimes.
I'm so tired of writing the word "ashamed." It's in almost every one of my blogs. Yet, that's how I feel when I feel anything other than good. Ashamed. It's in everything that I do. I fear that every move I make is wrong. I'm starting to feel convinced there are two of me.
You see, there are people who think I'm super confident. They think nothing bothers me and that I'm just cool with everything. That is not me. I'm more anxious than anyone could ever realize. Why wouldn't I be when I carry a secret like this around?
My diabulimia isn't exactly a secret, but my struggle is to everyone but this blog. There is a weakness and vulnerability in allowing that out. It's not something that I think I can do. When I've tried it's been rejected. If it were again I think I'd just crumble.
Brandon (boyfriend who lives with me) mentioned that I've been having a lot of "bad/blue" days lately. He doesn't get the eating disorder thing, but he tries. He's watched been with me since my relapse started in 2008. Through the hospitalizations, doctor appointments, crazy breakdowns, and dances with death he has been there to try to support me. We broke up for two years because he couldn't watch me die anymore. He told me once, "how can I love someone who doesn't love themselves." I hated him so much for that. I hated him more for sticking around, and still supporting me even when we were just friends.
It took two years and 3,000 miles apart, but we've gotten a second chance. I'm trying so hard to love myself better, and I hope one day I'll be able to 100% believe that I am beautiful and sexy. Most importantly, I hope that one day I will be able to believe that I deserve love.