I am a red head again. I feel much more myself (hence the smile, for once). I also have one hell of a week ahead of me that includes 3 appointments and a drive to NB and back all within two days. I'm not sure if I've lost any more weight. These weigh ins fucking suck. Anyway, today was bad, really bad, the worst day I've had in awhile. Tears were shed over my food today, and there was a point where I stood for one and a half hours in my kitchen looking from my left to my right hand. One hand held a Boost nutrient shake, the other held a Luna bar. I could have had both, but something within in me told me I was only allowed to have one, and I just couldn't decide. It was pretty fucked up. I almost threw up trying to force a bowl of cheerios into my sorry stomach this evening, it took me 45 minutes to eat a veggie sub from Subway and I had an attack of withdrawal pain so bad that I needed a friend to drive my car home for me from down town.
What's my point?
There are going to be so many fucking bad days but you have to keep fighting. I got 1200 calories into myself today. Considering the day I had, that is phenomenal. So you see? You fight. You fight or you fucking die. ED is sadistic and cold, and he doesn't give two fucks whether you live or die, so long as you starve. I think events as of late have given him a bit of bargaining power. He'll always be there. He'll always be around to run to, or to cuddle you, or to tell you you're OK -- so long as you fucking kill yourself for him. I know my readership includes people who are struggling with ED. This post is for you. I am not invincible. Recovery is not a walk in the park. It is fucking hard and it is a battle. I'm fighting with all I've got left in me, and I'm gunning for you too.
Poke ED with pointy sticks. That bastard deserves it.