I came completely clean to my husband last week.

I didn’t mean to, but we’d spent the whole day together, meaning that I put food in my mouth whenever he ate. We went out to run errands right after lunch, so I sat in the car digesting more food than I had in at least a month. I was so stressed about it that I was tearing up behind my sunglasses. A few hours later, he suggested grabbing dinner since we were still out, and I just lost it. The idea of eating dinner on the same day that I’d eaten and digested lunch was just too much for me. In a snot-ridden, blubbery fit of tears, I just told him everything. I told him that I’d been lying about eating breakfast and had been bringing an empty lunch bag to work. I told him about the vomiting and laxative abuse. He was amazingly supportive, but very frustrated and didn’t really know what to do. He offered to get fat so I’d stop feeling like he deserves to be with someone prettier than I am, which made me laugh. He meant it though, which really touched me.

I called my psychiatrist and had an emergency appointment the next day. She put me on cymbalta and renewed my Xanax prescription. I’m now taking half a milligram twice a day whenever an alarm on my phone goes off and then eating a pre-planned meal a half hour later to another alarm. I’m still having difficulty with things like going out to eat with my in laws or their kids, but I’ve only abused laxatives once since going on this schedule, which is pretty intense improvement. I haven’t been able to throw up because my husband is hyper aware of any gag-like noises I make, and there’s no place private enough for me to be comfortable purging at work.

I’ve been going to the gym with my husband and limiting myself to a set toning sequence and a half hour of cardio. We put the scale away and I’m only weighing myself once a week. I know that’s potentially dangerous, but if I don’t check in, I’m going to constantly panic that I’m in an overweight BMI range. Once a week is less damaging than 4-7 times a day, but I am going to have to be very careful not to start sneaking around and overly restricting as the number rises. And it is going to rise.

I like the way I look right now and that’s not something most women get the opportunity to experience. I’ve enjoyed being able to look in the mirror and not hating what I see. I don’t want to get bigger, but I know that the lifestyle that let’s me look this way is slowly killing me. It’s going to be a struggle to ignore how ugly I’m going to get and that’s a huge part of what’s set me back every other time I’ve tried to live in a less dangerous way. I hope this time I can find a balance where I can not hate everything about my body but also treat it decently. I’m cautiously optimistic that this time I’ll at least make progress, even though I know slips are inevitable.

Wish me luck, folks! I’ll keep you posted on my challenges and successes as I wade my way back into the never ending exhaustion of recovery!

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