Therapy is extremely expensive, popping bubble wrap is radically cheaper
I'm finding myself really confused by the concepts of choice and control in regards to my eating disorder. Did I choose it, or did it happen to me? I don't remember making a conscious decision to stop eating. I remember being in elementary school and not eating when my mother would go on one of her screaming rages. It would make her even angrier, but I felt like I couldn't. I remember high school, skipping breakfast at home, skipping lunch at school because I had to work, had to write critiques and stories and poems and papers, they had to get done and there wasn't time to bother with eating.
I remember in college being so depressed I just lay in bed whenever I wasn't in class. My diet consisted solely of microwaveable rice, baby carrots, and frozen peas. I just didn't care, and the numbers dropped more and more.
Later, it got harder. The restricting was a choice. I was not allowed to eat. It was my punishment--for being a bad daughter, for being a bad student, for being a bad friend, for existing. It was an effort. But was it a choice?
And then the b/p'ing. My ED therapist, Renee, told me I was bingeing because I was starving, because I was dying. And the purging? That didn't feel like a choice, either. I had to. It was my punishment for eating, for disobeying the rule that says "You are not allowed, you are not worthy."
I remember the last time I went IP, back in December, I felt very clearly that it was all a choice. That I could choose to stop just like I chose to start. Just a simple choice: I won't do this anymore. It made me angry when I saw other people "using behaviors," refusing to eat meals or purging into tampon boxes. I wanted them to just choose to stop.
I see now that I was a self-righteous bitch who probably should've been smacked upside the head. A month out of IP, I was back to restricting, more and more. My weight started dropping again. But I told myself that was my choice. I could stop any time I wanted. I told myself that partly because I was scared and partly because it was a way of punishing myself, blaming myself harshly.
And then back to the b/p'ing. I suppose it was inevitable--food is always available around here, and my body's in starvation mode, even though I'm still fat. It didn't seem like a choice--the night I found out Kelsey died, I was in a daze: eating, puking, eating, puking. That night turned into every night, and my life turned into a nightmare I was afraid to reveal to anyone.
When I did finally tell someone, it was a very conscious choice. Sitting on Dr. Charles's couch, stammering, unable to really say it but hinting at it until she asked if I'd been purging. I expected her to be angry or at least disappointed so I could punish myself with that, but instead she was kind. So I've felt like I have to deserve that. At first, it didn't seem like an effort to avoid b/p'ing. Just the fact that I'd told someone was such a relief that, for a few days, I didn't feel that uncontrollable need to binge and purge.
Now, there is a lot of effort. Janet's pressuring me to eat dinner, which is good for me but feels terrible. I had a meltdown in the kitchen a few nights ago, and everything felt totally out of control. The choice was unmanageable. Do I eat? What do I eat? How much do I eat? I couldn't choose to make any of those choices. I started crying because something that once seemed like such a clear choice now felt totally beyond my control.
I don't understand how much of this is in my control, how much is my choice. How much is my fault. I feel like it's all my fault and I'm a terrible person who deserves to be hated and abused.
...but I don't want to feel that way, maybe...
I remember in college being so depressed I just lay in bed whenever I wasn't in class. My diet consisted solely of microwaveable rice, baby carrots, and frozen peas. I just didn't care, and the numbers dropped more and more.
Later, it got harder. The restricting was a choice. I was not allowed to eat. It was my punishment--for being a bad daughter, for being a bad student, for being a bad friend, for existing. It was an effort. But was it a choice?
And then the b/p'ing. My ED therapist, Renee, told me I was bingeing because I was starving, because I was dying. And the purging? That didn't feel like a choice, either. I had to. It was my punishment for eating, for disobeying the rule that says "You are not allowed, you are not worthy."
I remember the last time I went IP, back in December, I felt very clearly that it was all a choice. That I could choose to stop just like I chose to start. Just a simple choice: I won't do this anymore. It made me angry when I saw other people "using behaviors," refusing to eat meals or purging into tampon boxes. I wanted them to just choose to stop.
I see now that I was a self-righteous bitch who probably should've been smacked upside the head. A month out of IP, I was back to restricting, more and more. My weight started dropping again. But I told myself that was my choice. I could stop any time I wanted. I told myself that partly because I was scared and partly because it was a way of punishing myself, blaming myself harshly.
And then back to the b/p'ing. I suppose it was inevitable--food is always available around here, and my body's in starvation mode, even though I'm still fat. It didn't seem like a choice--the night I found out Kelsey died, I was in a daze: eating, puking, eating, puking. That night turned into every night, and my life turned into a nightmare I was afraid to reveal to anyone.
When I did finally tell someone, it was a very conscious choice. Sitting on Dr. Charles's couch, stammering, unable to really say it but hinting at it until she asked if I'd been purging. I expected her to be angry or at least disappointed so I could punish myself with that, but instead she was kind. So I've felt like I have to deserve that. At first, it didn't seem like an effort to avoid b/p'ing. Just the fact that I'd told someone was such a relief that, for a few days, I didn't feel that uncontrollable need to binge and purge.
Now, there is a lot of effort. Janet's pressuring me to eat dinner, which is good for me but feels terrible. I had a meltdown in the kitchen a few nights ago, and everything felt totally out of control. The choice was unmanageable. Do I eat? What do I eat? How much do I eat? I couldn't choose to make any of those choices. I started crying because something that once seemed like such a clear choice now felt totally beyond my control.
I don't understand how much of this is in my control, how much is my choice. How much is my fault. I feel like it's all my fault and I'm a terrible person who deserves to be hated and abused.
...but I don't want to feel that way, maybe...