Yesterday afternoon I fell off the wagon. Well, let’s face it; I didn’t just fall off the wagon because while I was lying dazed and confused, I was then repeatedly run over by the damn thing. So, what caused the wagon carnage?
I reside in Happyville, the place where I went to university. One of the reasons why I still live in Happyville is because of Sunday lunch. As a fresher I joined various societies and one society in particular invited all students to regular Sunday lunches. These lunches provided an opportunity for us to get to know other students and also other non-studenty types (grown ups or ‘real people’). I can rarely recall a Sunday passing when I haven’t gone out with friends for Sunday lunch.
Over the years many friends have come and gone but a (hard?!)core group of us remain and chose to remain because we put down roots in Happyville. In part, some of these roots can be attributed to the role that Sunday lunch played in providing something constant in an otherwise chaotic and ivory tower like student bubble.
On Sundays I see friends who still live in Happyville but many friends choose to return from other towns and cities where jobs or families have taken them because of Sunday lunch. When I started flirting with my eating disorder I told myself that I’d know I had a problem if I started skipping Sunday lunch. As the eating disorder began to take hold I still went to lunch on Sunday because it afforded the opportunity to eat ‘properly’ once a week.
Yesterday I went to lunch and as I was eating I began to feel my stomach filling up, a sensation which fills me with disgust and signals a lack self control. I knew what was coming. I could not continue to justify breaking the rules, MY rules in this way. Yet, I smiled, laughed, joked and maintained the façade of being OK.
I walked home from lunch filled with self loathing, each step I took towards home was filled with a combination of relief (vile fattening calorie laden food will go!) and dread (I would have to account for this in treatment). Such was the urgency to expel my lunch and guilt I didn’t bother to take off my coat before I started to make myself sick. I needed to regain my control and that despicable lunch had to leave. No ifs, no buts, it was going, it must be gone.
Since starting treatment three weeks ago I have resisted making myself sick. I suspected the various handouts I had been given would say something about what to do if this situation arose. As I flicked through various papers containing text, diagrams and graphs I found a sheet that said ‘if you make yourself sick, the meal/snack does not count as part of regular eating’. I took from this that in order to adhere to my treatment plan that I should eat again. I was still full from lunch and resembled a balloon that needed to be popped so I ate a cereal bar.
The voice, that voice would not be silenced and I felt no relief. I’d fallen off the wagon so I did the logical thing and broke the rules. Again. I’ve spent weeks at a time caught up in the cycle of binging and purging and eventually the cycle was interrupted in the form of a friend calling me on Skype.
Where does this leave me? Today my body is broken and my mind feels sad. I am losing the will to fight this battle. I am trying to hold to the notion that I have a life to live for; friends, family, a job and a career ahead of me but I’m slowly but surely slipping away from those things as I continue on this path of self destruction.