The past couple of nights, Weds in particular, were rough. I ate too fast and had that full feeling I hated, and had a major urge to go barf it up. I took a cat nap instead, hoping the feeling would fade, thinking about how everything I ate was soft, but it was acidic, and it would hurt coming back up. Dave being in the house (having no idea what was going on) was enough of a barrier that I just slept until I could focus on something else.
I had major issues with food in the past, and binged/purged for the better part of three years. The last time I threw up food on purpose was in June, and it was a moment of weakness to make myself feel better in an intense moment of stress, and I regretted it instantly. I'm glad I didn't give in again this week.
The thing is I like food. I take comfort in food. It's self-medication, the actual act of eating is comforting. I wake up and I think about what I am going to eat. I think about lunch at 9 am. I think about dinner at 11. I think about the ice cream in the freezer, about the secretly stashed candy in my desk, about Frappucinos and cookies and bowls of pasta. It's pretty much constant. And if I ate every time I wanted to feel better I would be massive. And so I fight it constantly, whether its not eating or resisting binging.
It comes from an ugly place, and it makes you feel a few minutes of control, followed by feelings of self-loathing and shame. The cycle can repeat itself so easily, and its reinforcing when you lose enough weight that someone notices. I always struggle with weight, if you ever meet my family its obvious why.
I think being Veggie is good for me, because it gives me a way to obsess about food in a non-negative way. I also don't feel embarassed reading nutrition labels to mentally calculate how long it would take to burn off, because I have a "reason."