You are still five years ago.
You purge, really purge, for the first time in this apartment. This place where you live with your husband. It feels so horribly wrong, like you have desantified this home. You're disgusting and ashamed. You don't think that you'll never purge again, but maybe you won't purge here. But it's been so long, you've forgotten how. You make loud, ugly retching sounds. You're glad you didn't try this with your husband home, because you are no longer discreet. Harsh and shaky, spittle dripping down your hand and snot running down your face. So unglamorous. So not worth it.
But you feel better, for some reason. How can you do something like that, and feel so guilty about it, but also feel so relieved. It takes some of the pressure off, like you've deflated yourself of some of your grief.
Your eyes hurt, your head throbs, your throat burns, but you are relieved.
Doing anything is better than doing nothing.