Yes, I am anorexic.
But I am also, primarily a Christian.
Last night, God and I had a little confrontation. Or rather, God confronted me. And as far as I'm concerned, the great 34-day fast is over. I cannot lead it anymore. I need to take a few days off from the Facebook. Cold turkey.
Here's what happened yesterday: I was making the 4th of July desserts, and that required taste tests. I had intended to have only liquids today and skip the gym. "Well," I thought, "It's early morning, they're free." They are not "free." Maybe the one or two would be "negligible." But ten or fifteen should count.
"Well, I guess I'll be going to the gym then this evening."
"Well, as long as I'm going to the gym, I'm going to enjoy a few more." And a few more, and when the box gets full before they're all in, I have to eat the ones that don't fit. And when the ingredients get too uneven (too many pretzels, not enough sprinkles), I have to eat the extras. And when there's too much chocolate for all these pretzels, I begin to look around the kitchen for other things to dip in it. Blueberries. A banana. Pita bread? I wonder how that would taste?
Several hours later, there were only four small boxes of finished pretzels in the fridge. I had eaten the rest. My stomach was already in pain from the sudden overload of sugar. And I had only drunk one Venti Starbucks, and one sip of my juice, and one can of Coke Zero. My roommates were gone for the evening. The gym would only be open for one more hour, and by the time I got dressed and got there it would be worthless. Today's plan was completely, utterly, hopelessly RUINED.
And I snapped.
I ran upstairs and tore open my old pantry box in a maniacal frenzy. A box of macaroni and cheese and a small can of chicken. Grabbed my "Wasted" book, ran downstairs and put on the pot to boil. Eight minutes. I open the book and start to pace the kitchen.
Within the eight minutes waiting for the pot to boil, once or twice it occurs to me that I could turn the burner off, put the uncooked things away, and make a choice not to do this. Instead, I concentrated harder on what I was reading until the meal was completely prepared. Only a salad bowl was big enough to hold the entire pot of mac and cheese with chicken, one of the items on my list for the 35th Day Cheat Party.
I packed all the empty cartons and trash in a separate bag, no evidence left behind for the roommates. Like the gremlin from the Hobbit guarding his "precious," I carried my book, a bottle of flavored water, a coke zero, and the salad bowl of mac/chz/chicken up the stairs to a silent, empty room and proceeded to eat as voraciously as I was reading. It took less than fifteen minutes.
I didn't even taste it. With eight or ten bites left in the bowl, my stomach gave a lurch in protest. "Please stop." Adamantly I refused. I had not come this far to quit now. With each bite, I lost focus of the book. And when the spoon clanged at the bottom of the empty bowl... it happened.
A flood of pain surged through my body. I propped up the pillows, and gently turned my body to lay back, hoping to disappate some of the sudden grinding and twisting in my abdomen. I tried to read more to keep the waves of nausea at bay. And I whispered out loud, "Lord, what have I done?!"
A funny thing happens when you call on the Name of the Lord.
He shows up.
The remainder of what happened last night: I'm not going to post just yet. It was an extreme, intense rumble and tumble with me and the Almighty. One day, I will post it. But right now, it's just a little too... personal, too intimate to just put it out there in cyberspace, exposing my vulnerability to everyone and anyone.
It's important. It's dramatic. But it's mine. I would like to think that my personal experiences can teach someone else a lesson. But I'm not sure that would work in this case. A personal rendezvous with God is original, pure, unique, personalized just for me. And He can do that with anyone else who needs to be touched in their own unique way.
So for now, I'll keep it to myself.
Woke up this morning three pounds heavier. And bleeding. Well, DUH! I think I somehow had deluded myself that amennorhea would immediately kick in when I put anorexia back into high gear. Stupid girl.
Last night I had to re-adjust my eating plan for from-now-on. The terms of the "great 34-day fast" are not ok with God, so I cannot make myself be ok with them. I may be anorexic, but I am a Christian FIRST. No matter what. He made that abundantly clear to me again last night.
I chose this lifestyle, this eating disorder, so that I could be in control of my life. But ultimately, HE IS STILL IN CONTROL. Of me. He always will be.
I am willing to eat. But I am not willing to give up my ED entirely. This is my limbo at the moment.
Last night, I made today's menu: one soup-at-hand (90 calories), one flavored water (0 calories), one Venti Starbucks (160 calories), one coke zero (0 calories), and one 1/2 cup RK & 1/2 cup ff milk (88 calories). Total calorie intake for the day: 338. In whatever order I deemed neccessary to be able to sleep off the pain, and get one good workout at the gym. Early enough to get a good shower before the roommates get home, as the next day is going to be an early start.
Last night, I went to bed at 1:30 am.
This morning, I woke up at 5:30 am. That's when I figured out I was bleeding. God is still talking to me, quite clearly, which is a huge relief. Back to bed.
Woke up again at 8:30. Not done sleeping yet, but hoping I was about to take a shit, I headed to the bathroom. Nothing. Damnit. Back to bed.
At 10:30, my cell phone startles me back to life. It's "Sa," I don't answer. But I thank God that the pain has abated to a dull roar, grab my book, and head down the stairs of the again-empty house to spend an hour on the throne. A few ounces at best. Saltwater flush? The idea of being able to shit out all of yesterday's mistakes is extremely tempting, but not tempting enough to forget the immense abdominal pain of last week that would be added to this morning's lingering dull ache. No thank-you. I'll survive.
Noon. Back up the stairs to prepare the day. First, to the scale: 131. It hurts, but I deserve it. One thing that DOES remain from the 34-day fast: my goals. I still aim to be 120 by July 21. That goal is still within reach.
I take another look at today's menu: soup, water, starbucks, coke, rice krispies. I'm not in any mood to eat just yet. That menu is a limit, not a mandate. I'm going to start with Starbucks and the gym. Everything else can be had at home.
To those reading my blog from Facebook, especially my girls on the 34-day fast: How can I apologize enough for having let you down? I was very discouraged to read on several walls how people were pulling out of the fast without saying anything to the group because they were ashamed of having slipped already. DO NOT BE ASHAMED!!! I would have welcomed you back with wide-open arms at any moment.
But now it's my turn. Now I know how you feel. I pray to God that you didn't slip up as badly as I did. But I understand now why it pulled you out of the fast.
To those who will remain strong and continue the fast: I envy you, I admire you, and one day, I know I will be strong enough to rejoin you. This was only my second great-fast ever. Maybe after nearly six months of "recovered" or "normal" eating behavior (if you'll excuse the horrible pun), I bit off more than I could chew.
I am hanging on to the written plans for this fast, and I will probably try it again later. When that happens, I hope that many of us will be in a better place to be able to give it a real, true, gung-ho shot like we intended this time.
I won't be checking my facebook or it's corresponding email for a while. Don't worry, I'm not dead. But at God's command, I need this break for a little moment.
(((This entry needs a punchline.)))
That'll do for now.