Last Night

B is nervous, driving fast on the highway. A thirty minute drive to some man's house. He wants four pills. But we somehow got fucked, like we usually do, and we don't have the exact kind the guy wanted. Jesus, same drug, same mgs. Just not the right kind. B is so upset.
"This isn't going to work, we're fucked. How are we going to pay the rent?"
I am massaging his neck. I am not nervous, I have more faith in him than he does. We will be fine. It will always be fine. But I do worry about his blood pressure. I move my hand from his neck to his leg, and stare out my window at the moon, singing quietly to myself. The moon is a light bulb breaking....I won't talk to him about music. It is the only thing I keep to myself. It keeps me safe. I don't know from what.

The guy bought five.
We are fine. It is all fine.
And I truly believe that things will not be this hard for us much longer.

The sun is shining.

I have a purpose.
It is this life, in this body, this man.
The heartbeat that lulls me at night is outside of my body, but it is my own.
I feel like an animal. Something in the wild.
I eat so I can survive. So I can live another day.
I cling close to him at night. I am held close, kept safe.
I nuzzle him as if I do not have the words to communicate my love.

"I'd rather be bulimic than get fat."

That's what a friend of mine, J(female) said to me last night while we were shopping.
We weren't discussing eating disorders, but rather getting old.
Of course we both said "getting fat" was our number one fear.
It saddens me that the fear of getting fat comes before things like fear of getting wrinkles, lower sex drive, menopause, and deeply saddens me that it comes way WAY before fear of developing health issues, losing a parent, and plenty of other things that are actually a much bigger deal than putting on some weight. Or at least are supposed to be.
She said, "I would honestly rather be bulimic than get fat."

And shit, I agreed.

Normally I'd see J's comment as being rather ignorant of what girls with eating disorders actually go through, but in this case I just have a feeling she knows what she's choosing between. B, who has known her far longer than I have, says she used to be pretty chubby. J is a very small girl now, short, small frame. She looks very tiny although she probably has a normal amount of body fat on her.
It is certainly insane to assume that everyone who has ever lost a significant amount of weight had an eating disorder, however I've always felt like I had a sort of radar for detecting these things, an EDdar I guess.
I think if you know the behaviors, the signs, the excuses we make, you can pretty easily spot one of us.
But it's possible that when you know what you're looking for you see it in everybody.
B used to ask:
"Jenny, what are you doing to your food?"
"Why do you eat so slow?"
"Why do you order it with everything on it if you just pick almost everything off?"
He used to joke around with me because when we went to Subway I'd order a BLT and take off almost all the bacon, avoid three quarters of the bread and just eat the tomatoes and lettuce. Basically a salad.
When I explained to him that these were eating disordered behaviours I hadn't been able to shake yet [I had told  him of the existence of my ED one of the first times we ever spoke, which is very very not normal, it was very bad back then and I was very ashamed. I don't know what possessed me, why I trusted him so quickly,] he said something like, "Oh, I guess that makes sense. I just thought you were a weirdo."
He would have NEVER recognized an eating disordered behaviour before then, unless I stuck my fingers down my throat right in front of him.
And that's why I told him the signs.
Every trick I know.
Like an addict, sick of themselves and disgusted with the cycle they've fallen into, handing over their drug to a loved one and saying "Here, don't give this back. No matter what. Not if I ask, not if I beg, not if I cry, not if I swear that I will die without it. Hide it, because I will try to steal it. I will try to steal from you and I will lie to you because I am an addict and in the throes of withdrawal I will do anything for a fix."
Because I'd hoped he would love me enough to try to save me from myself.
He does.


Edit: It is Friday [payday] and I have only mentioned drug addiction in a simile? I was so sick yesterday. Stomach cramps and chills all day, restless legs at night, tossing and turning, sobbing on and off, wide awake. God dammit, why does my body insist I need drugs, even during the rare times when my mind wants nothing to do with them?
B was okay. He is just so much bigger, so much stronger.
I told him how I'd been feeling when he woke up this morning. Says I should have told him last night. We could have got suboxone. A part of me thought he knew.  A part of me is too ashamed to say it anyway.
I don't know what happens tonight. Rent is due the 1st, most of his paycheck has to go there. Plus I have a closing shift (fuck me.) I'd be proud of us if we just bought some suboxone. I don't know what I expect we will do. Not that, for some reason.

Brain Damaged

I locked myself out of my apartment yesterday. B was at work and my roommate wasn't home either so I had to break in through the bedroom window. Awesome, right? Yeah well it gets better.
Our bed is right beneath our window. I was planning on just kind of letting myself fall onto it, but we have these grey goose bottles on the windowsill filled with water and food coloring that I had to get out of the way first. I threw them onto the opposite side of the bed. I was trying to get in quickly because I'm pretty sure like 8 people who live in our building were watching me and it was humiliating. I was also worried someone who didn't recognize me might call the cops or some bullshit.
So I lost my balance and fell.
Headfirst.
Onto one of the vodka bottles.
Crack.
Knocked out cold.
If ever there was a tale of the dangers of alcohol, this is it.
Also, if ever there was a tale of how I am a huge fucking idiot, this is it.

My head hurt ALL day after I woke back up (I guess woke up is the word....un-passed out?) and I felt nauseous and weak and I'm pretty sure I am concussed. I'm feeling better today but jesus I'm an idiot.
B worried about me all night.

Tuesday

I want to thank everyone who commented on my last post. I really appreciate your support. You are all truly wonderful.
I didn't post all weekend or on Monday because B wasn't working and we were spending time together.
It's not that I'm trying to hide this blog from him.
I'm not. I wouldn't care if he found it and read it, maybe he already has. Probably.
There is nothing here I wouldn't tell him if he were to ask about it, or if I thought it was anything he really wanted to talk about.
I don't really have anything to say today. I'm not feeling the best. I'm kind of sad. I don't know why.
Tuesday is always the saddest day of the week.
I'm so tired.
I hope B is in a good mood when he gets home tonight.
I want us to have a good night.
I guess this is just a post to let everyone know I'm still alive. Maybe I'll be more in the mood for this later.
Sorry for being a waste of time.

It's not fair that I still freak out over shit like this.

Today is one of those days where recovery doesn't really seem worth it.
I'm having a fat day.
I should have seen this coming, with the way I've been shamelessly devouring anything salty, greasy, fatty, and calorie-laden.
I should have known that all the shame I shook off at the time would eventually find me. And that it would be strong, having had time to build up, while I would be weak, too tired from the mess of carbohydrates I had consumed to fight it off.
Have I gained weight? I don't know. There's no scale here. My measurements haven't gone up, couldn't have gained too much, right? I'm not supposed to be fretting over a few pounds anyway, dammit. I'm better, I'm recovering, I love myself blahblahblahblahblah thingsI'mnotevensureifImeanorbelievemostofthetime blahblahblah.

In all likelihood I just feel a little heavier because B and I didn't eat dinner last night until after midnight.
And it was PASTA.

I don't want to talk about what I eat too much, because to most of you who aren't in recovery, it would seem really, really disgusting. You would think I weighed 190392930023002302lbs. I don't, I assure you. I am of average weight. My BMI is 19.6. Though I am just as surprised I don't weigh 190392930023002302lbs as you are.

But I have to prove to myself that I am stronger than this. I'm about to have my first meal of the day. I contemplated fasting. I miss fasting. But I am making the right decision, I am winning.

An Encounter with the Woman We've All Wanted to be, at Some Point.

I work at a retail clothing store.
I see a lot of very thin women every day, but yesterday I saw a woman who I could only describe as "extreme thinspiration."
A walking corpse, really.
One of the thinnest women I've ever seen who wasn't lying in her deathbed.
I let her into the fitting room and watched as she modeled outfit after outfit to her average-sized friend.
She was swimming in the smallest size we carry.
I tried not to stare at her bones.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about her.
I'm not even entirely sure why.

A part of me wanted her, and a part of me wanted to be her.
But a part of me wanted to throw up on her.
I wondered if she had an eating disorder, what she saw when she looked in the mirror.
I wondered, if I touched her, would her skin feel cold?
How do her bones feel?
It made me question why I had once aimed to have a body like her, when I, in a more stable state of mind can't even decide whether I find her attractive or repulsive.
Why did I want that? Why does a part of me still want that?

And then it occurred to me that she had been on my mind all day. She still is.
When was the last time I thought about a stranger of average weight for this long, this in-depth?
When was the last time I couldn't help but stare at a woman the entire time she was in my presence? I'm a straight female. 
When was the last time I saw a woman so striking?
It's as if she was breathtakingly beautiful if only for the fact that she barely existed.

Her body, her eyes, her smile, they're all etched into my mind.
The average-sized friend? I couldn't even tell you her hair color.
And as sad as it is, THAT'S why.