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Diary of a Twenty-Something: 02.25.18.

February 26, 2018

 

I felt sick tonight. 

 

Something in my stomach was feeling horribly uneasy. I felt nauseous, and dizzy; the room was spinning. I thought I might have food poisoning. I laid in bed for a couple hours, trying to ignore the obvious need and desire to throw up. 

 

I didn't want to do it.

 

I've been doing so well lately. I've had so few slip-ups. Food poisoning seems like a cheap trick- I can hear my eating disorder laughing at me. "If I can't make you get rid of it, something else can." 

 

I finally gave in. 

 

Physically, I felt better. But mentally, I was destroyed. It didn't matter why I went to the bathroom. It didn't matter that my intentions were innocent. The actions felt so rehearsed. 

 

Turn on the bathtub faucet. 

 

Put your hair up.

 

Drink a glass of water.

 

Find your toothbrush. 

 

"Get rid of it."

 

Cry.

 

Wash your hands. 

 

Wash your hands again.

 

Wash your face.

 

Wash your hands again. 

 

Turn off the bathtub faucet.

 

Flush.

 

Put your hair down. 

 

Fix your makeup.

 

Stare at yourself in the mirror for five minutes.

 

Wash your hands again. 

 

Leave. 

 

I am such a slave to my eating disorder, that I have forgotten what it feels like to actually need to throw up. I forget that purging is a mechanism, designed by the body to get rid of toxins. When most people purge, they purge because they drank too much, or ate something bad, or got the stomach flu. I feel like i've relapsed.

 

It doesn't matter that I needed to purge tonight. I know that I needed to. For once, purging was not forced. My body did this action naturally. But it still felt like a routine.

 

And now I feel very tired. 

 

 

 

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