What if I just kept walking?

It feels like this happened years ago now but I guess it's more like two and a half. I wrote this a few months ago while I was in treatment. It's nice to say that as I type and edit it for the blog I am eating a complete lunch with no intentions of throwing it up.

Trigger Warning: Eating disorders described in detail, numbers talk, food talk.

It's Friday and it feels like the whole world is celebrating. I walk the longest route to the apartment to extend my time alone and burn a few extra calories. I pass smiling people with brown liquor store bags, ready for their weekly house parties and pre-drinks.

No matter how slow I go I am going to reach home eventually. I have a fantasy (almost daily now), what if I just kept walking? What if I walked all the way to the train station and took the first ticket available? I could start a new life and be free from everything. The life I've built in this city is getting hard to maintain, and I need a break.

Only a few more blocks to go until I am back in reality, back at the apartment. The place itself is perfect, big window, hardwood floors, and decent rent. It's the home part of it that isn't working. I live with my boyfriend, sorta. In my mind we broke up three years ago. I've done a stellar job of communicating that.

The past year I've found ways to escape the relationship. Running gets me out and the gym is always open. I'm looking better so when I meet my knight in shining armour he will save me from this person I've become.

Getting closer and I know I'm going in. I know I will not go to the train station, and I will not get on a train. Another weekend of faking it. I haven't eaten a thing all day in preparation for this. This weekend's special event is a visit from his sister.

For the first time, I am thinner than her. I hope. When I get to my hallway I know it is my last chance to run, I put my hands on my stomach, gaining confidence as I feel each rib bone. I put the key in the door and a fake smile on my face.

She's sitting on the couch and even with my distorted perceptions of bodies I know I'm thinner. I see her jealousy. I see her looking. My stomach. My arms. I wish I had worn something more revealing. I wish I was showing more skin, more bone, more muscle. I wish I had done more sit ups. My stomach will never be good enough.

***

We are out for dinner. I'm terrified. How will I get out of this? She's complimenting my figure and I feel strong. She's never been this small. I'm starving but I order a coffee and a small bowl of lettuce. I eat half, watching her choke down stir fry. It's cute how she eats the vegetables. No idea the calories in the sauce. Or the impossibility of avoiding the rice.

My tight skinny jeans feel great but I'm aware I need to be careful. Although smaller than sis there are other girls in here I wish I looked like. Their stomachs are so flat. Mine just wont do that. My breasts, deflated, just sit in a tiny bra, looking damaged, old.

I hear none of the conversation. The entire night I'm obsessing over calories, exercise routines, my goal weight for next week, my goal weight for Christmas. I'm proud I got through a day on less than 100 calories. There is no chance of binging tonight. Not with her around. I'm completely in my own head, it's the only part of me full of food.

Back at the apartment they watch a movie and I go for a run. I'm gone for hours just to prove that I am better. I'm starving and the feeling is motivating me to run faster, longer. I think about how good it will be to be a jean size smaller. There are so many sizes that just keep falling off. I imagine a day when none of them fit.

I can't wait until she is gone, I want to be alone with my thoughts. I want to put up the pictures of skinny models, I want to do squats in my living room and I don't want this girl here. She has so many friends, and so many parties to talk about, but I have bones and a waist.

***

The next morning they have breakfast and I have coffee. She asks if I ever get hungry. "No." Who admits a thing like hunger. It's so gross, selfish and not something I want to talk about. I do not admit hunger, that is for weak people. I'm better than that, strong. And really, hunger is rare. I don't need food.

When she leaves later in the day I am relieved. He is going to work and the place is all mine. I weigh myself and am thrilled. The number is lower, much lower. I'm home alone and can do what I want. I can get even smaller. This is everything I wanted. I wish everyday could be so easy. At Christmas people will be shocked, Maybe someone will suggest help, maybe I'll get to go to a doctor who will diagnose me as "Thin". I feel like that is a selfish goal but it's mine and I work towards it with passion and determination.

Time for a run. I'll go to the drugstore and back. A 5km run, I'll have jello when I get back and go to sleep.

***

My vision blurs and I feel guilt and extreme anxiety. My body is shaking. My hands are shaking. My heart is so loud I'm sure the whole store hears it. I'm putting everything in my shiny red basket. Chocolate, licorice, jujubes, toffee, Doritos and m and m's.

I can't get home fast enough. I take the subway praying I wont see anyone I know. With two friends in a city of millions it's unlikely. But the shame of them seeming me like this. Shaking, sweating, pale, crazy eyed, and I can't even wait to get home before opening the licorice. My head is screaming about calories, fat, kilometers, inches, pounds. It's all going too fast.

Off the subway and only 500 metres to my apartment. I've ran this thousands of times. I rip off my jacket and eat. With wrappers and bags piling up around me. I begin to feel full. Too full. I walk to the bathroom. I know what I have to do. I shudder. I don't want to. I have no choice. All the chocolate makes it feel like I'm shitting from my mouth. It keeps coming up.

Eventually, I lay on the floor. It's so cold on my sweaty body. My head feels like it must be visibly throbbing. My routine is to look in the mirror, see the food in my hair, on my hands, feel guilty, go for a run, come home and hate myself to sleep.

I pull myself up to the mirror but all I see is pride. "I've got it all". My eyes are so blue from the pressure and the tears. This felt good. I need more. More chocolate, more bright eyes. I bring the bags into the bathroom. I'm an efficient bulimic.

When the food is gone my heart is beating slow. It's hard to hear and the beats seem off. The tears on my dirty face, the ringing in my ears, the cuts on my hands, the smell, they all replace the feeling of pride.

What if I died now? Would they tell my mom they found food on my hands? In my hair? Or would they just say "heart attack". I cry more but I'm scared to move. I want to hear a heart beat first. Something confident and strong. I feel so lonely.

Big Love

This show is one of my guilty pleasures. As I watch season 5 weekly I am also re-watching the series with Brian. It has me thinking a lot about the feminism in the show.

There is no doubt the female characters are well written. They are diverse, fully developed characters with strengths, flaws and interests, but their lives revolve around their family. For the wives it is about their husband, their homes, their children, yet for Bill the focus is often his job and career. As the series progresses the women are repeatedly asked to sacrifice for his career decisions, making his concerns theirs.

It is all about the husband, although he discusses things with his wives it is ultimately him who leads them and makes the decisions. The show does a great job of displaying how hard this can be on women, even women who believe so strongly in the principal. The struggles they face in wanting to control their own bodies and reproductive systems is an area I wish they had of discussed more in depth.

There is a scene in an early episode that shows a teenage girl, pre-married to an elderly man who is the prophet. She feels proud of her place and convinced that this is what she wants for her life. When yelled at by another male she sticks up for herself in a very strong way. Telling him to never talk to her like that, to never raise his voice at her. This girl is what many would consider a victim, young, almost married, possibly brainwashed, uneducated and given few freedoms.

Another girl, the same age is growing up far more free. She makes her own decisions, she works part time, she parties on occasion, she is a rather typical teenager aside from her parents being polygamists. She remembers it wasn't always this way and she knows it isn't the life for her. She seems stronger, yet when confronted with this same man she screams, terrified.

Showing the free girl as scared was interesting. Perhaps the writers where trying to show just how brainwashed the married teen had become, her power as a wife had given her a kind of twisted confidence or superiority. While the other girl, although free, is presented as lacking this confidence. I would think a terrified scream would be more typical in this situation.

It isn't easy analyzing a show for feminism that is so far from my own reality. I don't want to make generalizations about polygamy based on 5 seasons of an HBO show.

Doctor's Office Art

My GP has recently moved to a new office. I've only been there to visit her once and the doctors were still settling in. Today was my first time being there when it's been 'decorated'. She is a young female doctor who specializes (kinda) in eating disorders. She doesn't specialize exclusively but she is listed as a doctor with experience is that area.

Because of this area of experience I was pretty upset today when I noticed posters that advertised for botox and laser hair removal. The two aren't directly related but I wish her office was pushing more of a 'love your body' message.

She isn't the only one who works there, there is a dietitian, a naturopath, a psychologist, I would wish that all of these professionals would want to promote body acceptance.

Inside the patient room was the typical awful watercolour art that all offices seem to have. A little easier to take, but only because there was no message at all.

My New Home

Tumblr is just error after error lately and I'm done. If there is one thing I'm good at it's quitting stuff.

All my old tumblr posts are here: http://mturnstyles.tumblr.com/