Bulimia Help

The problem with my so called "recovery" is that it has never had a definite beginning. Because I never wanted to be bulimic in the first place, like many of us, I was always trying to fight against it; to not let it become a full blown disorder.

I was anorexic, and "happy" being thin and not worried about my body anymore, even if that's a hideous contradiction in terms. After all, isn't your mind turning against you body and primitive human need for food and nourishment, and all the other things that disappear with anorexia, at least a little worrying? Well, by then all I cared about was greeting my bones in the mirror with a perverse satisfaction every morning. Every evening. Every time I passed a vaguely reflective surface. Cutlery excepted, of course.

So for over a year, I've been trying to grab hold of the slimy, spiky, cunning tail of bulimia. With no luck. And I am not being melodramatic. I'm actually surprised that I'm still alive and have money, the rate I've been spending and eating and vomiting. Ok, so lots of people have had this for longer than I have and are still alive, but I've always seen myself as exceptionally unlucky and accident prone. And I think we all feel like we're about to die when our stomachs have tripled in size and we can't breathe for the amount of crap we've shovelled in there.

But, all along I've been doing a very very half-arsed job (one-tenth-arsed job, if I'm going to be accurate about my true efforts, though even that figure is generous...) of actually stopping. There have only been a few days in the last four hundred or so, where I have not gone starfish on my ass (ok... so I don't think any of us have ever actually evicted our stomachs from our bodies). Most of those were due to being around my family who could distract me, love me, and keep a check on my greasy mits. I have never come up with a plan, never stuck to any distraction techniques, and am almost afraid of giving up this magical "ability" I have to eat what I want and then (kid myself into thinking that I will) not gain weight.

That's a lie though. I have gained weight. I don't know how to get rid of it or if I even want to, yet on the other hand I would rather go through the pain of having my stomach surgically removed than get even the tiniest bit bigger. I know I wasn't happy being skinny. I know it's not attractive. I know it was close to killing me. I also don't give a damn what size other people are, and even prefer them fleshy and human. Contradictions contradictions contradictions.

But whether I want to be skin and bones and half dead, or "normal" sized and unhappy with the way I look like so many of us, or find a happy middle ground somewhere, I cannot be bulimic. Of course, if I recover I'll always be known as a recovering bulimic, for there is always the chance of a relapse, but if I can go as long as possible without this ridiculous cycle, whether I'm happy or not, at least I won't be stuck in this hell.

So, after 10 rounds with my stomach today, though it hasn't been the worst, I am utterly utterly utterly sick to my stomach of this wretchedness that has posessed my mind and body. I want out before it gets to my soul. So tomorrow is truly day 1. The day where I will be implementing techniques, systems, following rules, doing as I tell myself to and not as bulimia tells me to. I hope... My heart is dropping through my body in fear. Fear of failure. So I can't fail. "Simple" as...