7am – Wake up and get ready for work
8:30am – Leave for work
9am – Get to work and warm up a muffin and make coffee
10am – Begin to take laxatives. This would usually take an hour.
(I’ll stop here and let you know that I didn’t always take them at work. But I started to in recent years, because I was trying to hid it from my family. This was very risky. I had to be sure I planned it accordingly so that my behaviour wasn’t noticed by my boss or coworkers). I also found that if I took them earlier in the day they would react sooner; therefore I wouldn’t spend the whole night in the washroom. Somehow spending the whole day in the washroom seemed like a better option. Stupid.
Noon – Start getting nauseous. Very nauseous.
1pm – Find somewhere to lie down. I was very secretive and was always able to find somewhere to rest while the feeling subsided. It is indescribable. The pain.
2pm and onward until 5pm – Spend the majority of the afternoon back and forth in the washroom. I would have to show face at my desk every now and than so people knew I was there and existed. But I put on an act. I was dying inside and trying to do my job at the same time.
5pm – I was usually not ready to leave and go home. Wait, let me rephrase that. I was usually not ABLE to leave and go home. I would have to stay in the washroom, or if I did leave, I would have to make a pit stop somewhere because I couldn’t drive anymore.
6pm – Home. Right to the washroom. Right to bed. Washroom. Bed. Washroom. Bed. This would go on for hours and hours. It would creep into the next day and the day after.
Noon (48 hours later) I would feel some relief and have my energy back. It’s at this point that I remind myself how awful I have felt and how great I now feel. That was the last time I would promise myself. Last time my ass. ED would never allow that. To him, there is never a last time.
I continue to remind myself that it’s my life, not his. I call the shots.
So ED, you don’t decide how I live. Because it’s not living. It’s a slow and painful death. That is all that an Eating Disorder is.
There is much more to the details of living a day with an Eating Disorder. But I cannot come to terms with putting that much information in my blog. I know my friends and family read this and to let them know of the pain and suffering I inflicted on myself is not something they need to know. Because they know enough.