Bulimia Help

I feel I'm in a point where I cannot take it any longer. This life of mine, day after day is the same day. I had a very good 5 weeks, clean and healthy and strong and full of good thoughts. Then, I fell, it's been 2 weeks since I relapsed and I have done it badly. It came back with a renewed and nasty approach.

I know what is causing it, but I cannot do anything to solve it. I need a friend, close to me. I want to have human, social contact besides that of my son and my husband. Last Friday my husband treated me horribly. In front of my son. called me names, suggested I should shove the food up my a**. I thought I could never feel as bad. I don't have anywhere else to go -I live an ocean away from family and friends-, I'm just surrounded by enemies and I must wait until the divorce is settled. In the other hand, I face everyday the thought of losing my baby of 2 years.

Everybody demands from me to be strong. I just feel I cannot keep up with this life. I feel myself at the verge of a burnout, and I don't know what to do, because if I admit to be seriously sick then my husband will use that to take my boy away from me.

Right now I feel like collapsing in a mound of shit.

I'm angry at myself. I keep on messing up despite all the hard work in the structured eating program. I do eat 3 good sturdy meals a day. I'm vegetarian, so I do try to increase the consumption of protein in each meal/snack. I've lost a little bit of that 'primal' fear towards -healthy- fats. Now I drink whole milk, some butter here, some cheese there, some nuts sprinkled in my fruit. I eat at least 10 portions of veg and fruit a day, etc. All good. Supposedly it should fucking work.

Now, in the night. 10 pm. A bell rings in my brain, wherever the stupid ED comes from, the spawn of my despair. Last night was truly horrible. 10 pm. Recurring time; usually I try to go to bed. But I couldn't sleep. I had been (hu)-a-ngry again: my husband had been provoking me, stirring my inner lava of fears and frustrations. Menacing with taking away my sonny, and rendering my mother in law into his "new mother". He knows a bit about this, my ED, but I'm scared that he could realize I've been relapsing. He will use it -as a pretext of mental illness and unsuitability for motherhood- when the custody battle gets on.

Then I binged. Very nasty binge. Uncomfortable, stupid. It was 12 pm, I had been holding the impulse for nearly two hours. Earlier in the week I had two "moderate binges" but didn't purge. That was my intention last night. Face the consequences of my wrongdoing. I went to bed. It was 2pm that I felt physically sick. Not so much worried about getting rid of calories, but my stomach couldn't hold the food I had there for almost 1, 1 1/2 hours. It was refusing to digest it. Then I did it, couldn't help it. It was very easy. It had never been that easy and that scared me. It came like a flood of guilt that despite the water, hasn't been flushed away. There was a lot of acid, that gave me a burning feeling for the rest of my wakeful night. That's right. I didn't sleep. I couldn't.

I just want to scream, as though every latest episode in my life is a blurry deja-vu, a maze, a forest I cannot leave.

But I don't have any voice. This is what emptiness feels like.

When you don't have where to go, when you are lost in your immense solitude and individuality.

I just wish I could hug someone, someone my mom, someone my best friend, someone my sister, someone not just anyone.

But there is just the chatter from the T.V.

And my innocent little boy who doesn't deserve a hug with this reek of vomit I have.

And my nemesis, my "hubby" just keeps on showing me a mirror, and I see there a monster, and he keeps on insisting: "that Thing is you, Penny".

But the boy is here, and he doesn't believe yet I'm the boogie-woman. Not yet, undoubtedly my "hubby" will make a hell of a work showing him that picture of his mommy rather soon.

I mustn't allow that. But hatred makes me a monster. Hatred against myself, against "hubby", against this country and its people and language, and many many times against life.

I know I shouldn't allow those feelings. But they feed me, feed the emptiness. As food can do and then I also hate it with all my heart.

All the rationality has gone in the whirlpool of the toilet, once again.

I really don't want to fall, but nobody is around -out of naiveness- to grasp my hand before I slip deeper in the misery I have constructed.