Okay guys, here we go.
(This is Mace, by the way. He’s my trusty sidekick.) :)
mace is the best support ever.
I’m embarrassed to post this picture. I’m ashamed to post it. Not because I’m ashamed of how I look, but because I feel like I’m letting all of you down.
I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry that this is what I look like. After nine months on the program, I’m sorry that my physical self does not represent my progress. I feel like I need to confess, ask for forgiveness, and repent.
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We met when I was really young. I was really small when I heard my mom say she was fat, when I heard my dad tell me how lazy and gross people were that HAD fat. Ana was there, then. She held my hand tight and told me that no matter what, if I was with her I would never be THAT. “Stick with me. We’ll never be fat.” Even though I didn’t need her help then, I always knew she was there. She was my safety net.
At age seven and eight I started hearing praise for how skinny I was. “You’re so small. You’re so THIN. LOOK AT HOW SKINNY YOUR LEGS ARE.” Ana didn’t do much at that point to earn that praise, but she liked it. It FED her. She felt happiest when I heard such things. I felt happiest when I heard such things.
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It’s been about six weeks. For about six weeks I’ve been trying to say goodbye to Ana.
I just haven’t been able to do it.
And believe me, I’ve really been trying. The fact I’m talking about her AT ALL should indicate that I’m making progress.
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A bulimic giving up binging is a big deal.
I can’t speak for every bulimic out there, but for me this is a REALLY big deal.
This is like alcoholics giving up the booze. Or drug addicts giving up their favorite way to turn off the world. This is like hoarders emptying out of their house all their things and sending them to the dump, a religious extremist giving up their Bible, a doomsday prepper giving away the keys to their bunker, a social-hermit-agoraphobic throwing open all their doors and windows and walking out to join the circus.
This is like a child giving away their very favorite, passionately loved, had-it-since-in-the-womb blanket.
Giving up the binge for me is like all of that put together.
“You will never eat like you used to for the rest of your life. Until you come to accept that, you will NEVER be successful. Going on a super regimented program in which someone or a piece of paper dictates to you exactly what to eat and when, and in what quantities and how, will never give you the lasting results you’re looking for. You can’t look at a diet and think ‘ok, I can do this for six weeks’, that mentality is doomed for failure EVERY SINGLE TIME. If you see a fitness program as something to do temporarily so you can look great and then revert back to your old ways, you just aren’t getting it.” – Meg, “Fit Bitch”
My first thought when I read this post was “Well… …shit. AND DAMNIT!!” (…actually to be totally honest, because that’s the goal here, my FIRST thought was “UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH!!!” THEN that other thing.) As an anorexic-bulimic, at LEAST 25 years of my life could be summed up by that exact mentality.
“My pants are tight, I need to lose some weight.” Then I just stop eating for 3 days and it’s fine.
“My pants fit fine, I’ve been good, I can eat what I want.” Then I head to the kitchen and eat something-salty-something-sweet-repeat until I ache with pain and pleasure.
The life of an ana-mia is a tragic and deluded one. We think that we’re something we’re not. We think people see things that only we can see, and most of the things we see are figments of our imagination. We think there isn’t any problem, no matter how big or small, that cannot be put in perspective with a three-day fast or a four-hour power binge.
Feeling worthless and empty?
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