I can barely speak the disgust in which I feel towards myself. It does no good to berate myself over my eating. I’ve been restricting lately, but that is not the reason I’m upset. My husband, D., has been getting suspicous since coming home from treatment and so I hate some cookies today that I normally would not have. The thoughts of guilt and fat just churned inside my mind over and over and over. I felt so guilty I had to was it away through purging, so I ate some icecream and more cookies in front of him. To be blunt for the reader’s sake, I also took food into the bathroom of which he does not know and sat on the bathroom floor and ate it so I could throw up more easily.

Now my throat is raw, I have no energy, and I feel ill. I feel like I’m headed to the condition in which I was in before I entered treatment. I’ve always told D. that my suicide would not be impulsive. It would be a well thought out decision. I’m not claiming I’m suicidal right now because I’M NOT!!! All I’m saying is that there are certain behaviors being undertaken and it is leading down a road that has a logical and rational and justified conclusion.

I’m disappointed that I’m not interacting much with my other members. Emily came out today. She makes me sleepy and as D. was driving us to therapy she swallowed me and I became so sleepy and fatigued. I dialogued internally with her and she backed off. But other than that, we really aren’t talking. It’s so much harder to be focused on recovery outside of treatment. I’m disappointed the IOP fell through. It would have been a difference, I do believe.

I’ve been out looking for other blogs by people with eating disorders or dissociative disorders and the screem starts to swim. I know of Something-Fishy (who doesn’t know of them) and I’ve gathered some ideas for how to spend my time now that I’m out of work, out of school, and mostly out of options. Next week I start completely on my own and I worry for myself. If I can restrict and binge and purge with my husband by side 24/7, what can I get away with when he goes back to work?

I know it’s not about the food. I know what it’s about. I just can’t look at it anymore. The transition from residential treatment to home is a bitter one. I’m starting to feel a little hopeless. Fuck. It’s not about the food.