I couldn’t possibly write so many words to convey the depth of my sadness.
Was it possible to say no?
Of course. The option was there, unlike countless other times when the need overwhelmed the development of any rational thought. But still, I did it - I leaned my body over the toilet and vomited, releasing myself from promises I was never in the position to make in the first place.
He walked in while, disregarding any concerns of cleanliness or dignity, I reached into the depths of the toilet and started scooping handfuls of my vomit into the trash bin. I should have realized the toilet was plugged. My mind accounted the possibility after I noticed the water was suspiciously low, yet I took my chances, risking the possibility of spending the rest of my life without the person I love.It was at that moment when the door clicked that I, wet with toilet water and vomit, realized that the universe finally decided against me. The daily mistakes that I had passed off as minor slip-ups collided, quite literally, into a mess I had no explanation for.
The disappointment in his eyes was equaled by panic in mine. I suppose we had both been waiting for it, the certain dissolution of promises made by a person whose every thought is ruled by bulimia. Grief swelled in my chest and I sank to the ground, my futile attempt at hiding my mistake surrounding me in acrid smelling puddles. I looked up at him, his huge, beautiful brown eyes wide with shock, and I knew there was no use in begging. My apologies were nothing more than a whisper of sounds without the slightest of meanings, and my tears had long since lost the ability to win me a second chance. It was over, and I felt an infinite sadness for the fact that there would be no hope of turning back, of forgetting, or even of recovering. I had littered my life with failures to the point where they were impossible to overlook, and even I could not forgive myself.
I’ve learned to forget my high hopes. They only let me down.
Why does every goddamn minute of the fucking day feel like torture
(Source: lewky, via o-c-e-a-n-i-c)
Time can change everything, or it can change nothing. It depends what you do with it.
(Source: prayfortheshameless, via smokedoutjesus)
I would do anything to know what makes me so endlessly unhappy.
Where did all the fun go?
Whether it’s binge/purge, binge/fast, or binge/over-exercise, I will always find a way to punish myself for eating.
an infinite sadness, masked by the weakest of smiles.
Recovery is a state of mind that creeps away so slowly you don’t even notice. All of a sudden, your eating disorder is right back upon you, making you more miserable than ever.
Where exactly, did I lose myself?
An eating disorder is not something that is acquired, or something to aspire to. It smells your sadness, insecurity, loneliness, and pain, and it finds you.
I honestly just can’t understand WHY CAN’T I STOP BINGEING. Why do I always have to be eating? It’s all or nothing - either I’m bingeing and purging all day long (which is what usually happens) or I resign myself to eat nothing but apples and oranges for days. If there is food in the house, I am GOING to eat it. I’m like some sort of starved, crazed animal. I disgust myself, and I take it out on my poor fiance. I’m an awful person.
