REALITY BITES, but barfs right afterwards. . .

So I just threw up that huge binge, after reading that laxatives only stimulate your bowels, but do not do anything about the food you ingested. I feel euphoric, of course, because that STUFFED, I am getting HUGE feeling is gone.
But I don't wanna be an active bulimic anymore. I hate this eating disorder. I hate it and I need help. But where and from whom? I don't know.
I guess I really do know. I will go back to FA. That is my last hope for recovery from my food addiction. It is either get better, or go back to either morbid obesity or active bulimia.
I need prayers and help.
God? I have so much to be grateful for. I am healthy physically, I have lots of stuff. But I don't have any relationship of trust with myself. No wonder I think Matt will betray me! I CONSTANTLY betray myself. I hurt myself everyday by eating food I don't want that makes me gain weight. I hurt myself with self-destructive and avoidant behaviors around money. I hurt myself with my rage against others, mostly my baby boy. I am so desperatelyunhappy with myself. And maybe the truth is that I need to find peace first, then food recovery next. I don't know.
Fabu out

God! Tag! You're it!!

I am super unhappy right this second. I just had a MONSTER binge. I have been eating sugar just like I can, and having occasional binges that shake the bulimic rafters SO badly that I cannot believe that I actually haven't barfed. I have fucked with laxatives, tonight in fact. And I NEVER weigh myself.
I am actually THRILLED right now. I know what I need to do (eat a foodplan WITHOUT sugar of any kind, besides fruit) and I didn't throw up. I just keep thinking, if I throw up, I am still gonna be chubby, still gonna be desperate, and will have the additional issue of having RELAPSED.
Not that what I ate tonight could be considered anything less than a relapse. I guess the real point is that I am willing to give myself over to God and FEEL the awful feeling of being sick from carbs and sugar. . .
Fabu out

Jeeeeezuuuuus

I am irritated. . . again. It seems that generally it takes very little to irritate me. I become upset mostly at ideas that pop into my head. Often they are ideas about my partner and how he may betray me some day. They are ideas about my son and how I am not doing a good enough job raising him. This morning the idea was about my panties cutting into my sides. This morning's idea was that I am gaining weight, therefore a panic set in.
The truth is that I am on a steep learning curve with myself, my food, my relationships and my money. The bottom that I am hitting around emotions, around money, and around weight is seemingly endless. This I know: if I continue to work the steps, go to meetings, and alter my thought process, I will get better. And as I get better, these troubles that I have will ease.
I am actively seeking the God I sure don't understand today, because as I heard in a meeting the other night, I don't know about believing in God, but I sure know that I need a God.
Fabu out.

Hope Today

We go to a Healthy and Intimate Relationships meeting, Matt and I. And it has been awesome. Today, however, it scared me. I started my thing about just needing to be heard, just needing to know. . .
I asked Matt if the times he swore to me were the truth. He said they were. The problem is that this conversations has no happy ending. He hides, and I want him to reveal. So. . . there it is. It is a difficult thing, this relationship. I bet Matt would have no criticism of me to his sponsor, which sounds admirable, until you realize that that means he can get no real feedback about our relationship from him.
It is such a bummer, and I am confused about the best way to navigate this process right now. I end up feeling like I do and say something wrong all the time.
Yuuuuuck. So lame. In any case.
Back to me. I am freaked out tonight by my lack of self-control. I just am pissed.
Fabu out

INSANITY

What is the definition of insanity again? Doing the same thing and expecting different results? Well, here I am. My life is fucking crazy around two things: money and food. I am in the hole at least 700 bucks (maybe more by now) and just ate a huge piece of apple pie and some peanut butter and honey (after my food day was complete).
How do I really feel? Like I can't count on myself. Like I am a loose-cannon who does self-destructive, childish things and then is pissed when the universe holds me accountable.
AARRRGGHH.
So what is the answer? 1, 2, and fucking 3.
So the powerless thing is easy, I'm sorta fucked. The coming to believe is harder. Do I believe that I can be restored to sanity around my money? Well, not really. Around my food? Not really. But you know the cool thing is that I felt that same way last year this time, but around my bulimia. I was sure that I would puke the rest of my life. And here I am, with 5 months clean. WOW.
So I know that I can be restored to sanity. I just need to remember during my days how insane I really am.
So let's redefine our abstinance, first with food. I will eat no more than 5 times a day. I will not eat past 7pm. I will not eat processed sugar. I will no longer combine raisins with nuts, or peanut butter with ANYTHING. As for the rest, following this plan above is good for me. I feel sure that with lots of exercise, I can lose my weight nice and slowly on this plan. Let me repeat it.
No more than 5 times a day
No processed sugars
no eating past 7pm
no combining raisins with nuts
no combining peanut butter with anything
Oh, and I am WELCOME to get a 3 dollar frozen yogurt everyday. with almonds.
As for the money?
that i will save for tomorrow.

My Fears are Unfounded. . .

Tonight we had a wonderful night. We went to a loadie party and met Matt's old friends. It started out pretty awkward, but soon enough, I had a good time. Then we went to a roller derby, which was also fun. Then we came back and Matt fell asleep on the couch. I told him a couple of times that it was time to go to bed, and he mumbled, "m hm." He didn't get up, and so I said, "let's go!" Then he said, "quit fucking buggin' me about it." At which point I said, "sleep like shit, fine, I don't care." Then he called me, but I snapped at him and walked away.
Now he is back on his computer, will probably fall asleep soon, and I will not get to sleep with him four nights in a row.
Bummer for me.
Fabu out

WTF?

Here I am again, on day 5 of the Master Cleanse. My food got so scary. Over eating and gaining weight. I topped out at 179, but that was in the evening, after I had eaten. I was planning to go on the Cleanse anyway, because I am SICK and FUCKING tired of thinking about what, when, how much and how I will eat. Am I gaining or losing? I am fat! I am not fat! Jesus. I just needed a fucking break. So here I am, on day 5. And I am remembering the last time, when on day 7 I weighed myself and I had lost only 3 pounds. I guess the real question is why the fuck am I doing this? I know, I know. I want to see if I can make decisions with my food and stick with them. But I wasn't counting on the whole shaky thing. That kinda sucks. I don't think I did any exercise last time I was on the Cleanse. Maybe that is what the shaking is about. In any case, I ain't eatin' tonight, so I am writing this to process those feelings. Sometimes when I come close to doing something but don't do it, I have an excess of energy in my body. And I seem to have this excess energy anyway. Last night, I was exhausted, but fairly humming with energy. I had what I have heard termed restless-leg syndrome. I had to do extensive yoga stretching just to sleep. And my true love was gone. Lame.
I am grateful, grateful to have not thrown up since Jan 27. What a miracle. And I have gained NO weight. I fluctuate between 175 and 179. So fucking what. I remember being over 200 pounds, and being so grateful when I went down under 200. So it is all relative. I could weigh 155 and feel totally skinny, then run into someone my height who would consider that weight grounds for suicide. So, I'm off the weight subject.
Fabu out

I don't get it. . .

Got into a major fight with my man two days ago, and just now started again for a second. I can't believe how fucking defensive he is. Two days ago, I got upset because he had no pictures of me on Facebook, and we got into a huge fight, because he felt criticized. Now, I am sitting on the couch trying to do my work, and Matt mentions my reading glasses. I know, or at least I think I know that he doesn't like them, but he swears that he didn't mean that. Of course, he won't tell me what he means, just starts being an asshole. I got mad and asked him to go in the other room, and he told me no, you. So then it escalates, and finally, after using his terrible tone of voice on me, he goes to leave the house. So I follow him, grab him and try what he tried with me. Held him, but it didn't work, he insulted me because I asked him to be nice, and I was extremely hurt. So I walked away, went in the bedroom and cried for a bit. Then I went and got my phone, glaring at him along the way. I lost my temper in the bathroom, kicking over the trashcan and throwing a fit. He left the house then, which is good. I now have no idea where he is, and I fucking don't care. I hate the way he talks when he gets defensive. Nasty and mean. So what do I do? NOT apologize, and NOT take my part. I am over that. I will take my part here. I could have believed him. I can't read his mind, and I could have just said that. But I got into my I know stuff, and that was it. I don't know what to do, I am sad and feel like there is no resolve. So we talked in IM a bit. At least I know he is coming home. But I could sure use some reasuring words. And there you go.
Stupid fucking fights
no resolve
are we going to destruct?

Universal Infinity

Nothing highlights my need for boundaries more than this irrational terror that I have about the universe being endless. Since I first learned about it, thinking about it has caused me a great deal of anxiety. If I don't divert my mind, I end up in outright terror. What is it about the concept of endlessness that is so scary? My life is finite. I was born, and grew up. Now I am aging and someday I will die. So that isn't quite as scary. All of those are knowns. But this endlessness. This vision of galaxy upon galaxy, or minerals unlimited, of masses and swirling vortexes that have no beginning and no end? Jesus! It makes me so scared.
How do scientists purport to 'map' this endlessness? Seems ridiculous to me. How do you plan for the unaccountable? How do you schedule infinity?
I had to write this, because it is one of the constant hints about me that is revealing. I get sooo upset when I think about it. Always have. I do think that was why when someone told me about God when I was young, I immediately thought that that sounded like a great idea. A God as big as the unending universe? Maybe that could keep me safe. If God is as big as the universe, then maybe God can help me conquer some of my own demons. Just maybe.
Fabu out.

I weigh 176!

Jesus!
I am terrified right now. All of the weight demons are chasing me, with drooling fangs and sharpened, 22 inch claws. They are out to destroy me! They will not stop until I am 250lbs.

God help me! I vow to not eat past 7pm, period!
I vow to only eat raisins for breakfast, period!
I vow to eat no more than 1600 calories in a day, period!

These goals will keep me safe for awhile.

In any case. I am triggered by Matt having lost weight. He looks thin! Can you imagine? He is really thin. He probably weighs around 190. Crazy.
So it makes me feel strange, like he will start putting pressure on me to loose weight also. Like he will look at me and feel disgusted by my chub.
I love being neurotic.

Well, I have my vows. We shall see how it goes.

Mother's Day

Hi all,
All being me and all the myriad parts of myself that are so divided. I was reading over my earlier blogs, and I wrote something very deep. I said that my dis-ease had painted me into a corner. On the one hand, I feel deeply anxious and ashamed when I vomit, and on the other hand, I feel The Wanting.
You know what? I am slowly creating a third state: that of not focusing so much on my food. Even, dare I dream, of not focusing so much on myself. In a meeting recently, someone said that growing out of narcissism is not about thinking less of yourself, but of thinking of yourself less. So these days I am focusing on getting up and doing something, rather than pondering myself and all of the things I dislike about myself. I also notice that the more I contemplete these things, the more things I notice that I dislike. Difficult, because that means that there are virtually endless qualities about myself that I find lacking. When, however, I let myself alone, I begin to feel more and more accepting of myself.
Education should be, and is becoming, my passion. These kids need an education, and I must conquer my own fear that there are certain kids that cannot learn. Not that they are incapable intellectually, but that their lifestyles, family systems, neighborhoods, and histories make this unlikely. What does that mean? That I don't necessarily believe that every kid will get an education. DO I think each kids deserves an education? Of course. There is no child, regardless of their cognitive, emotional, or behavioral issues, that I would point to and say, "not him." But it is not realistic to think that we can really educate all. It is sort of like owning a house. Even if all were capable of this (I submit that they are not), thanks to overpopulation, there are not enough houses for all. Not enough BY FAR.
In any case, my title for this blog is Mother's Day. So, Happy Mother's Day to all.
Fabu out.

The God Story

I was at an FA meeting when I first got 'clean', and I heard the most wonderful nugget. I have added to it and embelished it for artistry.
A starving man sat on the sidewalk, fists clenched tightly around two small scraps of bread, his last morsel of food. He silently lifted his eyes to the Heavens, and prayed for deliverance from the Hell of his life.
God appeared to him, and asked, "what is it that troubles you, son?" The starving man stared in wonder at God, and said, "I am starving, too afraid to eat my remaining food, and too weak to attempt to get anything else to eat." God smiled lovingly at the man, and said, "You are stronger than you think! You brought me here! Now, give me your hands, and I will heal you." The starving man looked down at his clenched fists, and slowly raised them towards God. "I can't let my food go!" He sobbed the words, arms raised in supplication, food clutched still. God again smiled, because God loves us regardless of our behavior. He put one hand on top of the clenched fist of the starving man, and said, "Let go. You are cared for."
The starving man began to weep anew at these words. His fists spasmed, as though he were trying to convince himself that he would survive. "Let go, I will care for you." God remained touching the man gently on top of his clenched fists, smiling at him. He seemed so sure that the man would be alright. Slowly, oh so slowly, the starving man began to loosen his grip. As he did, God slipped a hand in each of the man's, and pulled him to his feet. He took the scraps of bread, and placed them on the ground, generous lunch for smaller beings. God turned the starving man around by the shoulders, and before them sat a small hut. God guided the man into the hut, and there was a bounty of food. Chicken, apples, bread and fruit of all kinds. The man fell to the feast. God let him eat for a few moments, then pulled him gently away from the table. "Easy, my son. This is a magical table, and will remain full for you as long as you are humble, grateful and hardworking. " God smiled a final time, and disappeared.
Fabu out.

This is fucking ridiculous!!

Dear Fucking Diary,
What the fuck is wrong with everyone? I feel abandoned by Matt. He triggered my jealousy by a conversation he had with a coworker today. I heard warmth in his voice, and felt jealous. He didn't want to talk to me about what went on at work, and his tone to me has been matter-of-fact all day.
So my feelings are hurt. So fucking what. I got my computer and came in the bedroom to get away from him, and here he is! Oh well.
Too bad for me. The good news is that I remain abstinant. Still no vomiting. I got off of the cleanse fairly decently. I did overeat some, but not too much. Mostly my standard (these days) raisins and almonds. It was hard mostly because I wanted so badly to lose weight, and I weighed myself on day 7, and I was a whole fucking 3 pounds down. So discouraging. I put the scale upstairs. I have no business ever getting on it. It is bad for me.
I feel anxious. Looking for the bad thing. Is it SSU? My job? My relationship with Matt? What is heading to Hell?
I wonder at my own propensity for being scared. So hard for me when Matt shuts down. Just hard. And I try and be loving about it, but I am stricken with fear about our future. My shit, I know.
What a trip I am today. Just yesterday, I was the observer, and today I am IN my shit. Yesterday I felt loved and confident. I was ok, and didn't look at my partner to convince me of my worth, or to prove his love to me. He did make me dinner, after all.
I am powerless. I can say what I don't like, and then I gotta let it go.
Boo hoo. I feel sad and fucked up. I am supposed to be 'purging' by writing this, but I don't feel particularly relieved. I feel concerned about how I will handle my feelings. I know how he will handle his: he will shut up, and shut down. I, on the other hand, have options. I can say my peace and attempt to take care of myself. Which is what I did tonight. '
The real issue is that I make these moments mean something. Which they don't. They really don't mean anything. Just that he is the opposite of me, but no less deserving of my compassion and respect. Which I can also demand from him.
So, that is the victory. I win. My love really is unconditional. It does not depend upon people giving me attention. I love.
Fabu out

Wow! Day 53. I skip so many days, but I feel it's important for me to write today because I am on day 5 of The Master Cleanse, and am feeling overwhelmed at this second with rebellious feelings of deprival, abuse, 'no fun!', etc.
I am such a compulsive overeater, that I struggle to put the food down, period. I am doing this because I want change in my food behaviors. Food and yummyness is not all there is to life, I am sure of it, yet that is how I have lived much of my life. I float from one 'treat' to another, as though even being on the planet is not treat enough.
I am shaky and a bit bummed today, and yesterday I was euphoric. I am in The Wanting, because I am hungry.
It is going to be so important to come off of this thing carefully, so I am not sent into a spiral of binging and, let's face it, purging.
I keep thinking of specific types of foods, foods that I cannot imagine eating without vomiting, like pesto, alfredo, etc. And I think, so I can never have these again? 'Cause if I did, I would have to puke. But really, there are so many ultra yummy things to eat that I don't have to vomit up, and that is what I need to focus on.
So, my fear is that I will come off of this and lose it, like I did coming off of the rice and fruit diet in 1996. Some key differences are that in those days, I binged daily. Today, I am a bit more accustomed to watching my food and taking care to eat for health. Those days, I was miserable in a relationship where I felt mostlly hate for my partner. TOday, I have a loving partner who, though not perfect, surprises me all the time with his love and committment. Those days, I was not hopeful about my recovery, but felt stuck and angry. Today I am in Alanon, and I am free.
So, I guess that debunks all that shit.
Another issue is that the weekend is now, and I want to have fun. To me, fun means that I eat something yummy. This weekend, being at school will actually be sorta helpful. I can stay busy and cleanse as I do that. Today is day 5, tomorrow day 6, and I should be feeling no pain by Sunday.
After all, I have my whole life to eat delicious and healthy food. For today, my gift to myself is having this experience in its entirety.
Fabu out.

If You Only Knew. . .

Welcome to day 47 of my bulimia-free lifestyle. I am grateful, yet inundated with the compulsion to avoid. I want to avoid work, avoid studying, avoid my boss, avoid my responsibilities to my son, avoid. In fact, I am so busy avoiding everything that I am playing computer pool all hours of the night. I will be getting off of this blog soon to go and play.
A few days ago I had a terrible dream. In it, Matt (my fiancee) had broken up with me, and the dream began that I was semi-flirting with another man, when the thought occured to me that if we were really broken up, I could do more than flirt. So I called him. A woman answered, and I asked her to get him. He came to the phone, and I asked him, "are we done?" He said, "yep, I'm done." I felt devastated. The scene morphed, and I was approaching our apartment (strange, because we own a house! Actually, he pays half all of the bills, but the house is in my name). I went in and saw a woman, dumpy and only slightly cute, and older. She was laughing at something that Matt had said. He walked towards her, big smile on his face. I walked past them to where Brittany was standing by Colin in the kitchen (these are my step-kids). They were super casual, and we talked about them getting used to another woman. At some point, I asked the other woman if she and Matt were dating. She giggled and said yes, that she had gotten a very cute outfit for last night. The panic and pain increased in my heart. I walked in to the kitchen, and saw pictures of me covering the walls. I said, "it is weird that I am all over the walls." I then walked upstairs and looked at our bedroom. It was so messy, with my stuff all over the place. I grabbed a few things, the pain in my chest becoming unbearable. I walked downstairs and saw Matt and her walk into the bedroom together. I walked out the door and began walking down the street. Such loss. Such pain. I thought to call my mom and have her tell the family. In my dream, I thought of a conversation that Melanie and I had the other day, where I told her that Matt would stay with me forever. I felt humiliated and devastated. I thought of his warm hands rubbing my back as he hugged me, and I felt my heart break. I couldn't cry, so tried to call me mom, to start the cycle of The Breakup. Then I woke up, and realized that all was ok, and that I had been dreaming. I felt Matt's warm butt on mine, and I rolled over, groaning about my terrible dream. He comforted me some, still half-asleep. He said, "no-one is going anywhere." His words are always so consistent. The relief was peppered with the feeling that I had lost something. Whew. The whole day, I felt as though I had had something terrible happen to me. Jeez.
More later.
Fabu

WTF????

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST
I am ridiculous! I tried for two weeks to access my blog to post more notes of note :), but temporarily forgot my password. So I started a new stupid blog, but inexplicably couldn't cope with setting it up.
Wow. I amaze myself. I suppose that many people do thoughtless and silly things, but I always surprise myself because I don't expect MYself to. Why that is? I surely don't know. I am always amused after I get over the inconvenience of whatever airheaded move I have made. Last month, I neglected to get a fix-it ticket taken care of, and it cost my almost $400. My son't friend's mom told me the other day that her son told her that I was rich. Ha! Rich compared to whom?
In any case, this is my 37th day of abstinance from bulimia, in any form. AWE-FUCKING-SOME. I am a new woman. Of course, I am taking a cold-medicine pill some days to help with the cravings, and I am a bit crazy in my head about much of this process, but the real point is that I am living again with the consequences of my food choices. It is very empowering. I won't sugar-coat it: my pink cloud is gone. I wanted to binge on white cake very badly today. I even romanced it for a minute. I miss the zero accountability of the out and out binge and vomit session. I am not responsible for what and how much I eat, I get it all over my clothes and whatever I am sitting on. And then I PUKE. Love that. How sick am I? Boy-howdy.
I am scared, anxious, pissed, and confused. Mostly anxious. How the fuck am I really gonna eat in a healthy way? And how the fuck can I ever stop the COMPULSION? I sure fucking hate it. The WANTING.
I am sorry for my absence, but apparently my idiot attack is over.
More later,
Fabu

WHO THE FUCK AM I?????

Interesting question, isn't it? I wish I could say that I know, but I don't. I am the sum of so many different, and often contradictory parts, that it is tough to say who is the 'real' me. Maybe that question is pure fallacy. Maybe there is no 'real' me, just a compartmentalized multitudinous conglomerate. Whatever that means.
I guess the point is that I feel conflicted much of the time. I am an intense person, and that intensity is often directed towards that afore-mentioned feeling that I call the wanting. That feeling goes against what I value. I am filled with wanting much of the time, and I generally act out on it in some way. And then I feel guilt and shame. Conversely, when I don't act out on the wanting, I feel deprived, as though I lost out on something. Obviously, the more unbearable feeling is this latter one, as evidenced by my years of hedonism and active addiction. So there is the bold truth. My issues have painted me into a corner of loss. I lose what I want, or I lose belief in myself and my abilities to do the right thing. What is the answer? I really don't know. I suppose that I am beginning to believe in the idea that I am capable of great change. By that I mean that now I don't puke, I feel like anything is possible.
More later!
Fabu

WANTING, part two

FUCK ME!!
Seriuos need to binge today. I got by with eating almonds and raisins, an orange, an apple, a cheese stick, many carrot sticks, and later a frozen yogurt. I was and am gassy and unsatisfied and want badly to eat a big hamburger or something MEATY.
The bottom line is that my disease was talking to me today, loudly. I want, I want, I want. Always I want. Well, you know what I want, crazy ED? I want PEACE. I want peaceful food, a peaceful exercise habit, a peaceful weight. So FUCK YOU.
There, I told ED, didn't I? So back the fuck off. No matter what you do, ain't gonna binge and puke, no matter what. So think of something else to fill that hole. Something that won't hurt me, neither now or later.
So, there we are. A very tough abstinant day, but an abstinant day, nonetheless.

I AM AN ADULT CHILD OF INSANITY

My childhood was strange, to say the least. My mother was a lesbian hippie, and my father was absent. My grandfather was an alcoholic-pedophile, and my grandmother was a co-dependent and very angry woman. My sister is older, and was the favorite. I, with my chubby cheeks and my wanting ways, was cast as a problem from early on. I stole when I was 7, smoked when I was 12, did drugs when I was 12, and so on. My reactions to my family were bad. I didn't want to be around them. I was terrified that my grandfather would come on to me, and so every trip to see him was fraught with anxiety. I clearly remember sitting next to him in his truck going to the store. He had money, and would occasionally be very generous with it, so I always wanted to be around him in case he felt the urge to give me some. But I was so worried that he would try and molest me. I sat with teeth clenched, thinking that I would sock him in the eye if he ever did. In my memory, I was never molested, but I wonder. In any case, I grew up thinking this of men: they were absent or scary. I have made every partner that I have ever had pay for his sins, and the sins of my father.
My father was gone, but had an enormous impact on my childhood nonetheless. He was an unforgiving narcissist who once actually called himself a sage. He was gone most of my life, and the times I saw him he made hurtful judgements about me. About the wanting. I guess he saw it and condemned it, probably because it looked like him. I vividly recall going to visit him in Washington when I was 14. I smoked cigarettes by then, and brought a carton with me. He condemned my smoking, himself trying to quit. He told me that nothing looked worse than a woman walking down the road smoking. Then he bummed a pack of smokes from me. After I left that trip, he called my mom and told her that I had been greedy and bad. She told me, I am not sure why. He got very sick during my childhood and had a liver transplant. We found out through a 'group mail' that arrived one day. Not even addressed specifically to us. I had no contact with him from 17 to 34, right before I got married. He was very sick again, this time with cancer. We talked, and I told him that I forgave him. We talked all about him, of course. He got sicker, and so I wouldn't regret it the rest of my life, I went to see him in 2001, with my then boyfriend, Rob. His first words to me were, "I think seventeen years is a little bit excessive!" As though it had been my choice alone. Then he said, "wow! You got pretty!"
I could write novels about the things he has said to hurt me, and my hurt. I lied for him, and I am glad that I did. I told him I loved him, that I forgave him, and wished him peace on his journey out of this world. He died when I was 5 months pregnant, just 3 months after my grandfather did. No matter my true feelings for him, I realize that they are my responsibility.
I have since realized that he probably was confused, did the best he could, and that, as in many areas, I took on things that were not meant to hurt me, but to help. I have a positive genious in finding insults.
My emotional life is changing with my recovery from bulimia and binge-eating. I now have two weeks 'clean' and am overjoyed and terribly grateful.
Keep 'em coming, God!
I'm out.
Fabu

Here we are, at day 10 of my new, binge-vomit-free lifestyle. Nice. And I thought it would never happen.
I have, for years, felt so powerless over my own emotions and compulsions, that I thought I had no choice but to act out on them. Today I realize that I can have a different life experience than one of self-destruction and shame. I am worth having a serene and fun and interesting and RICH life, one not ruled by an eating disorder that demands I do things I no longer wish to do. And I truly do not wish to binge and vomit today. I am replete in my lovely meals, I am enjoy eating in a way that lets me move on. I am not obsessing on calories, nor am I obsessing on thinking through the list of everything I have eaten each day. All that ever did was either freak me out, if I thought I had eaten too much, or give me permission to eat more, if I thought I had not eaten that much.
I am having a great experience right now. Not that it isn't painful. I have stuff come up that is confusing and upsetting. I have feelings of displacement and anxiety that seem without trigger event.
Yesterday in a 12-step meeting, I was looking around the room and evaluating everyone. Not negatively, but still, feeling the compulsion, as I often do, to label all people in my immediate vicinity. I wondered, out of the blue, why I do this. Who hired me to evaluate everyone? What was the point of that?
With a jolt, I remembered growing up with grampa the pedophile. He never victimized me, but my mom and many others. We all loved him for many reasons, but we watched out for him because who knew when he might make very unwelcome advances. I can clearly remember many trips with him when I would end up being alone with him. I felt so scared and grossed out. Yuck. So I suppose that I evaluate everyone for safety. I constantly evaluated him, to keep myself safe.
Whewwww. Life is confusing. I really did love that old pervert. He was more like my father, really. But a sick man, too.
More later,
Fabu

I AM RIGHT, AND THE WORLD IS WRONG

When I decide the world is wrong, and I am right, then I know that anxiety will soon follow. In particular with my partner. He is focused on something besides me, and that can at times fill me with anxiety. I am not sure why. I love my space. I love doing my own thing. Yet at times I look over and think, "is this when it starts? The undoing of the love? The beginning of the break-up?" Often, a few minutes later I will find out that he is editing a picture of me, working on minute details of my face, hair, skin and color. Making me look beautiful. Then I am assuaged. Still later, he will pull away first from an embrace, and I will again get anxious. I have decided the world is wrong, and I am right. His declarations of love fall on deaf ears, because I see a lack behind his eyes. He is wrong, and I, unfortunately, am right. Fortunately, these moments are much less frequent than they used to be. I often feel very loved and am content with the many ways that he shows me that love. It is only when I decide that I am right, and the world is wrong, that all seems as lies to me, false and cruel. It is my mantra today that I am loved perfectly. By God always, by my partner in a perfectly human way. By myself, totally.
In fact, I am WRONG, and the world is right. I really am beautiful. I really am loved. I really am deserving and valuable.
Good thing I am wrong!
Fabu

Hope Is A Choice. . .

I am sitting here on my couch, feeling that empty feeling again. I just ate some shelled peanuts and a carrot and a cheese stick and some raisins. Why does memorizing my food make me feel safer?
I am so used to feeling as if I am limited when it comes to decisions around food. I can't stop eating, I can't stop wanting, I can't help feeling huge and crazy, I can't eat for health and energy.
I am making a new declaration today.
HOPE IS A CHOICE!
The fact of ED in my life is the only constant. How I deal with ED, what I make ED mean, how I feel about ED, these are my choices.
And today I chose to be empowered. I ate what I wanted then walked away. I took responsibility for everything that I ate, and I didn't bemoan the fact that for today I don't have the option of going and having a little binge later.
These are my choices, and I am never powerless over them. I am aware, I am alert, and I am in charge.
Blessings to my H.P. for giving me insight. Today my partner said something that struck me as true. He said that though he was not the most spiritual of men, he would fire his God if he felt that that God could not or would not help him out of the Hell of active addiction.
I can't fire a God I don't believe in. But I certainly can give shape, emotion, meaning and design to what I have intuitively felt since I was small: SOMETHING.
Hope is a choice. God is a choice. For today, I choose health, abstinance, love and empowerment.
Fabu

This morning I am a bit foggy, but feel better. By better, I mean that I feel more settled in my new, non-vomiting world.
I had much more success with eating normal food yesterday, and even got a jog around the lake in. My stress level is still a bit up, but I am hopeful that this journey will clarify itself more and more positively as I go alone, and that I will get increasing amounts of serentity as I go.
An interesting thing has come up from my not throwing up. I have had that full feeling, and have not had to eat for hours because of it. What a joy. I have felt all stages of hungry, full, and stuffed, and it hasn't killed me, not once.
I should add that I stopped weighing myself about 6 months ago. I truly believe that letting go of those numbers on the scale was what opened up the door for me to get my head out of the toilet.
That reminds me of a funny story. Well, funny in a tragic way, but funny non the less. Many years ago, I was very visible in the 12 step fellowship Narcotics Anonymous. I went to meetings constantly, hung out only with other 12 step-ers, and lived that life. It was glorious, and I became known for my fun, witty and honest message. I was asked to speak at a meeting one night, and of course I agreed. I rarely passed up an opportunity for face-time. The day of the meeting I was at a party with friends. There was tons of food at the party, plates and plates of it. I binged my way through several plates and threw up two or three times. Then I jumped in my car and headed for the meeting. I had binged on my way out the house, and was worried about getting rid of it. There was a plastic bag on the floor of my car, and I grabbed it, thinking that I could throw up in it while driving, then throw the bag out the window (when it comes to my bulimia, I was a bit of a litter-bug). I did throw up in the bag, and rolled down my window and tossed it out. I cleaned myself up, brushed my teeth in the car, sprayed on some perfume, and drove to the meeting hall. I shared from my clean and sober heart, and did mention my struggles with food, but not the specifics. I was very well-received, and had two young and trembling women ask me to sponsor them as I was leaving. I walked towards my car, feeling very high on the love and admiration of my fellows. As I approached my car, I saw something hanging by the back driver's window. To my mortification, it was the barf-bag, stuck on something and clinging to my car, spilling its horror down the side of my car. I stopped in my tracks, and had a real moment. The realities of my double-life crashed down on me. I looked around to see if anyone had noticed, and quickly pulled the bag off and threw it in the ditch. More littering guilt, more crushing hypocracy.
I have told this story many times, and some days I find it funny, and some days I find it sad. Today, I just have no more attachment to it. I no longet need to be the receiver of false accolades. I am not ashamed to be a bulimic, and I AM RECOVERING.
Fabu

I am writing to myself I guess, because I don't really know how to reach out to others with ED.
Right this second I am at work, trying to wrap my mind around not binging. I am in the obsession, and it is, to say the least, uncomfortable.
I feel anxious and deprived, worried and a little pissed. Why can't I stop the fucking wanting?
This morning I awoke at 4:45am, and ate two bananas with reduced fat chunky peanut butter. Then I made my big bowl of oatmeal with blueberries and raisins and splenda and ate that along with a large cup of coffee. So too filling. I am instantly miserable.
It is a new day. The sun is shining, and I am abstinant for my 4th day. I know that the obsession to eat will pass. I know it. But it is damn uncomfortable. I threw out the peanut butter. I threw out the peanuts from yesterday. I am willing to wait, to breathe, to let the compulsion ease out of my tight muscles and joints.
So I went to an FA (Food Addicts Anonymous) meeting on Wednesday night. It was a very strange and amazing experience. The woman who spoke was an attractive, slim woman with a very calm demeanor. Her story was about recovering from the disease of food addiction, and her recovery around all of her food issue. I am so used to making deals with my disease, bargaining with it as though I could assuage my WANT without letting go of my drug. She gave me hope in a very real way about living without the obsession and fear that active overeating or bulimia brings. The program as outlined by her was super strict: call in every weighed and measured morsel, and say not just what, but when you will eat it. Call people from out of the area several times a month. Join a group that works the steps, and do that with them. That actually sounds like a kick-ass idea to me.
I am not ready to be that hard-core. I have been living a life of free-for-all eating and no accountability, and the idea that I could go from that to calling in a weighed and measured food plan is terrifying.
I abstain, mostly, from sugar and white flour. There may be a little sugar in my coffee, and I definitely eat fruit. But that is it. I cannot afford to eat things that are too desert-y. Last night, on day 3, I attempted to eat a frozen yogurt that had half sugar yogurt in it. I am not saying that it was this that caused my compulsion, but the compulsion came, that is certain. I came home and ate several handfuls of peanuts with raisins, and a couple of chips.
Then woke at 4:45 to eat the biggest breakfast I have had in years without barfing it up.
So I dressed feeling enormous and vaguely anxious. I sure hope that all of my misery with puking is not going to be replaced with misery with obesity and binging.
The 12 steps are not exclusive to drugs: I am powerless over my food thoughts, and definitely over my eating once I pick up. I need to come to believe and rely on a power greater than myself to restore me to sanity, and I need to turn my will and my life over to this power.
Sounds creepy and cultlike, doesn't it?
Oh well, cult of abstinance beats a cult of misery and death.
I'm out.
Fabu

WORLD!!
So rude to write in caps. Oh well. Are you out there God? It's me, Fabubabe!
Ever read that book?
I am a recovering bulimic. Not a common thing to recover from. It is an easy and often convenient disease that can easily fool you into believing that it is not a disease at all. Clever little bastard, isn't it? If you are bulimic (and why else would you be reading this?) then you understand what I mean. I am, however, stopped. All my machinations and lame attempts-without-attempts are over. I am stopped.
And left with myself. Who am I? Why am I STARVING? What is that black place? That place that screams at me with a razor sharp voice. How dare I?
That, apparently, is the question. I am asking, seeking, praying, pleading, recovering.

If there is a history that is important for anyone to know about my eating disorder, it is that I started binging, sneaking, stealing and gaining at 7 years-old. Drugs took a front seat for a few years, from 12 to 21. Then my eating disorder (or as I affectionately call it, Ed) crept in. This looked like overeating for the longest time. Chronic, pervasive overeating. I want! I want! I am foggy and confused when I want, and feel such a level of impatient anxiety. I want it because I DO! Don't try and talk to me about abstaining!
I threw up for real on July 4th, 1996, weighing 227 lbs. I LOVED it. All of a sudden, I was out of food jail. I partied for a few years, lost weight, dated and danced. And I didn't have that nagging worry at the back of my mind. I didn 't constantly think about how many calories I had eaten, or if I had worked out enough to make up for any extra food I ate. I didn't stand naked, looking in the mirror and punching at my flesh, because I couldn't stop the WANT.
I know I am an addict. I am sober now for many, many years. But food BESTED me. Mostly because it was MINE.
I heard a woman say recently that eating disorder is just like having a nickel clutched in your hand. The universe wants you to loosen your grip and let go; it has a quarter it is attempting to put in your hand. But fear, familiarity, and in my case RAGE won't let me release that nickel. What will I have without my food addiction? Who will I be?
So how did I stop? And why am I so confident that this time will be different?
I stopped because I was faced with myself and my addiction. I felt in that moment, not shame, as I have a million times before, but HOPE. I hope, and don't puke.
An angel said to me, "these 12 steps work for everything, but not you? When did you become terminally unique?"
That angel also said, "I do believe that you can get better."
Whatever made the angel's words accessible to me that day, it hardly matters. I got it, heard it, felt it. And stopped.
So how do I know I won't start again? That is harder. Simply, I can't. I got one chance to recover from drugs and alcohol, and I took it. I got one chance for cigarettes, and I took it. This is my chance for this, and I am TAKING IT.
I am blogging for two reasons: I want as much accountability as I can get, and I want to be a part of getting out the word that WE DO RECOVER.
Love to all,
Fabu