Monday, December 19, 2011

Measuring Up

The voices are back.  The numbers.  The counting.  Two pounds today… maybe 6 pounds this week.    Ten calories per cup.  Nine calories per gram.  One hundred ten calories per hour.  Thirty ounces every two hours while awake, that should do the trick.  The measuring cups and spoons are out.  The food scale has its place back on the counter.
Then I get lost inside myself again.  Unable to quiet a faceless voice.    
I have not even risen from bed.  And when I do – the voice changes.  It’s my own now.  Right beside my bed is a large mirror attached to my bureau.  I accidently catch a glimpse of myself. “You’re worthless. What kind of mother are you?  You are nothing.  You are no one.” The thoughts keep coming until I make it into the shower.  Undressing is the worst part.  There is a full length mirror in the bathroom and I can’t resist using it to degrade myself every day before I get into the shower.
This particular morning I noticed something.  My abdomen, high, left epigastric area to be precise… felt very “itchy” while I was lying in bed, and when I undressed and began my morning scrutiny I quickly noticed why.  Four fucking NEW stretch marks.  “You fat fucking piece of shit.  You must pay.  You don’t deserve.  You disgust me.  You fat fucking piece of shit.”  Then the racing heart.  Then the scale.  146.6  I have not been this weight since I gave birth and was mother fucking post partum.
It’s been three days.  Three days of basically lying to my wife.  I’ve been fasting for three days now and while I feel that empty euphoria that only a suffering anorexic will understand… I also feel like a fraud. 
I promised to never lie to her.  I’m now throwing food away, pretending to eat.  I’m ashamed.  I’m down 4 pounds.
The secrecy that surrounds my eating disorder helps me feel a sense of control.  I need that control.  I’ve felt very out of control lately.  My daughter, the teen, is in crisis.  She’s depressed – cutting.  A huge mother fucking trigger for me.  I immediately gathered my tools readied myself.  I haven’t cut; yet.  I haven’t cut since 2009, and I dread the day that dark place returns.  I am also pretty convinced she meets criteria for EDNOS herself so if that isn’t a huge goddamn stress …. Well… I’m spiraling.  And right now the only thing I can do is measure my little non-fat yogurt cups.  And make sure I drink the exact fucking right amount of fluid every two hours.  And of course be certain I will not ingest any wheat products.
Right now I can’t even stand myself and I don’t even know why I wrote this shit.

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