Thank you to everyone for their comments. They are part of what’s keeping me going right now.
This has been a bad weekend for us. It didn’t start out bad on Friday, but something, I can’t remember what now, kept us from working out. If I don’t work out then my meal plan is screwed for the day; I ended up eating God knows what. Saturday was even worse. I got a call from Bitch, our bio-mom, and she wanted us to go with her and my god-daughters for some shoe and bra shopping. Not having a proper breakfast or my mid morning snack, I was doomed for failure. All I wanted to do was work out.
Don’t get me wrong. I did have fun shopping with my god-daughters. C. is always up to try new things, but her sister is a different story. Always the same style, the same black bra, the same boring shoes. I let wear what she wants, even if she looks like a ragamuffin. It’s her style; I let her own it.
But all this weekend I’ve been off exercise and off my meal plan. That makes me the fattest woman to be walking the earth. And dirty. As if I’ve been rolling in filth. I haven’t left the house all day because I was embarrassed too many people would see me and see my contaminated beginnings. I want to die. I’m exhausted from being so thoroughly tainted. I’m dirty and I know it. I hate myself for it. I made it happen. I deserve the consequences.
I know it’s important to see Therapist tomorrow but I don’t want him to see me like this. I want to cancel the appointment. How can I show up in his office like such a failure? Other people can have a normal relationship with food. Why can’t I? Why must I always eff it up by presuming my cleanliness on restricting or exercising?
Therapist can’t see me like this. What’s the worst that could happen? I won’t feel in control. My emotions might come spilling out. I may give him in detail what happened this weekend and that is a strong no, no. Therapist will look at me like a failure and I’ll feel less cared about by him because he will see my raw unadulterated badness. I will be humiliated by my failures. I am mortified that I am so bad.