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