Last night I was lying in bed.
It hit me like a ton of bricks.
It has been so long since I have overdosed on laxatives.
Over five weeks. It was the night of Cooper’s accident.
I have not been lying on the bathroom floor in excruciating pain. Having sleepless nights. Spending hours upon hours making trips to the washroom. Lying. And most of all, not being available.
Weird, that something so prominent in my life has stopped.
June 4th. That was when I took a stupid amount of laxatives. When I decided that I felt shitty enough to warrant a trip to the Walmart pharmacy to buy boxes and boxes of laxatives. As shitty as I felt, I knew that these laxatives would make me feel worse. And than I would hopefully feel better.
But did taking that many laxatives actually make me feel better? Each time I took, was that the outcome? Maybe for a short period of time. The feeling of being empty helped. But the psychological part never got better. I felt guilt, shame, anger and most of all disappointment in myself because I knew and know that I am stronger than this stupid disease. So it was a very short lived “reward”. Maybe one day of “relief” from whatever I was feeling. Was all of that worth it? Absolutely not.
When I was in bed last night, I realized how much I have gained since not overdosing – the truth is, that’s the best term to use for the way I handled my eating disorder. I have been so busy with the kids – Cooper’s arm, Tyler and Adam back and forth to baseball games and camp that my mind has been focused on more important things. Making them breakfast, sitting and having coffee at the table while they eat to discuss the day ahead, packing their bags for camp, making lunches, coming home after work and getting dinner ready, taking them to their baseball games/practices, going for a trip to yoghurty’s, getting groceries, giving them showers, watching tv together, tucking them in at night. Doing the things a mother is suppose to do. Instead of staying at home, telling them to turn on electronics so I could sit in the bathroom all night shitting my brains out. I would manipulate so many situations by making sure they had rides to get to where they needed to be. Now, I am doing it. I am driving them. I am doing what a mother is suppose to do. Be a mother and take care of my kids.
And you know what? I fucking love it.
I have been sleeping, feel well rested and get to be a part of their lives the way a mother is suppose to.
Instead of taking care of ED, I’m taking care of me.
I want to be available to my kids, but I also want to be available to me.
We are all winning.