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