When ED returned

 

Looking through my journal again, I came across this:


Today is July 28,2007 – and it has been 1273 days since I swallowed my last laxative.  3 years, 5 months and 27 days.  I never thought I would even see 27 days as an accomplishment for me.  And yet, here I am.  Alive.

Sending this to a friend today prompted me to open you up.  It is October 13, 2011.  It has been 2811 days.

I found you on my computer and decided to do some editing.  It’s been a while.  Today is July 31, 2012.  It has been 3102 days.  I suffered with ED for approximately 3652 days.  I look forward to the day when I can recognize that I’ve been clean of laxatives longer than I was a victim.

Today is July 6, 2014.  I slipped.  Damn.  After 10 years, I slipped.  Not once…a few times.  I may slip again.  What I am worried about is meeting up with ED again on a permanent basis.  I don’t want to and hopefully that will be enough to get me off that path again.

Today is January 5th, 2015.  ED became a regular in my life again.  Awful, just awful.  The last time I took was on December 31, 2014.  It was the worst I have ever reacted.  I was severely ill for 48 hours.  I actually considered going to the hospital because I was so sick.  I was in the washroom dozens of times and even 24 hours after I took, I was throwing up because I was still nauseous.  I missed out two full days with my family.


I am so happy I keep these entries.  They help remind me of the hell I have gone through and what I am working for each and every day.

I was talking to a friend last night who was at an appointment last week down at Sick Kids (all okay, just routine) and she saw the Eating Disorders group in the food court ordering lunch.  She watched them and noticed how scared they were.  It looked like they were being forced to inject poison.  It broke her heart to see that.

When I step out of my situation for a moment and listen or look at other people, it really boggles my mind that this is actually an illness.  A disease.  Food.  Body.  Eating.  I know it goes much deeper than wanting to loose a few pounds, but the act of eating is the behaviour and the action that needs to be redirected and corrected.

What my friend said that I appreciated and really am proud of is that I am so in tune with myself, my body, my behaviour and my actions.

And personally, that is the most important part of recovery.

I recognize there is a problem, I want to fix the problem and I am doing something about it.

That is more than half the battle.

And what a shitty, fucking awful, terrible battle this has been.

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