Rock Bottom

It's really funny. 

I was about to step off of the bus, and I looked back at the driver and said "have a good night, be safe."

I actually laughed to myself as I walked to the grocery store. I played that moment over in my head. How could I wish for a random stranger to be safe, when I was deliberately going to the grocery store with plans to harm myself? 

I knew the entire way that I was being stupid. That my evening's plans were unnecessary and foolish, but I also knew that I was going to follow through. See, there is a sense of excitement and a build up inside of you when you are about to harm yourself. Something is wound so tightly inside of you and the only way to release that feeling is the follow through. 

I walked into the grocery store. I was craving something sweet. Something that I knew would make me feel guilty. Something that would be easier to come back up. 

I grabbed two boxes of cereal. Fruity Pebbles and this chocolate, marshmallow mixture that they make special for gluten-free people, like myself. (gag) I made sure to grab a melon though, for the next day. That day I would be "good."

The walk back home was miserable. I was trying to talk myself out of my plans. I knew it wouldn't work. I try to tell myself these silly little things. "Calories are not bad," and "You need food to live." I even try to use other people to get my mind right. "What would Dad say?!" and "What are you going to do when someone finally wants you? Will you even live long enough to meet him?"

None of that works when I am in that mood. "It's not all the time." "Only until I lose 10 lbs," "You can start over tomorrow." "No one has to know." These words are the ones that win. 

I ate two bowls of Fruity Pebbles, the chugged some water. I went to my bedroom to rest for a few minutes before I locked myself in the bathroom. I silently prayed for my roommate to come home. That would force me to digest the food. I can never risk her finding out. She threatened to cut off my hair if she found out. I don't think she really would, but I love my hair too much. It's my body that I hate. 

After a few minutes, I head into the bathroom. It is strange mixture of dread and excitement once the door is shut. I always put something on Netflix to drown out my own thoughts. The ones begging me not to follow through. To hold on, and not give up another piece of my sanity. This particular night I was watching an episode of The Office. The one where Jim finally asks Pam out after his interview in New York. It's kind of funny that episode was on. For other reasons, of course. 

I have a ritual. 

I look in the mirror. 

I examine my face. 

I wait.

and 

wait

and wait.

Then I find everything wrong with my face. 

I grab at my stomach, and thighs.

my neck.

I start trying to imagine my cheeks sunken in, 

I try to see my bones through my skin.

All of this gives me the courage. 

I turn on the sink faucet and I wet the toothbrush. 

I have two.

well, three... but one especially for this. 

I rinse it, and then I hover over the toilet. 

I always have this moment of clarity right before I shove the toothbrush down my throat. 

There is a voice that tells me that I need to stop, that I am better than this, that God wants me the way I am, and I am loved. 

then, I tell myself that I am being a baby and I need to suck it up and puke. 

I listen to that one. I listen, because it hurts. Not forcing myself to throw up hurts. It feels like if I don't, I will go insane. 

I gag myself. Toothbrush down the back of my throat until it hurts. Until I am emptying my stomach. Until I am ripping food from my stomach and splashing it into a toilet. I am both relieved and disgusted. Sometimes I will run the shower first. Sometimes, the sick splashes up onto my face. Sometimes, it makes it easier to finish the job. This is a messy messy hobby. 

Sometimes it is one really good dump. Other times it takes a good few tries to reach the feeling that enough food was expelled. Those are the worst because I have to keep reminding myself why I am doing this. 

After I reach the level of empty that I need, I go back to the mirror. I look at my blood shot eyes and swollen face and there is a moment of numbness. Then, I just feel good. I did what needed to be done. I was weak when I ate food. I was weak when I had that cookie. I was weak when I decided to live for a moment, and now that I removed it from my body, I am strong. 

I flush it all away, and I clean up the mess. Usually that just means jumping in the shower, because I am the mess. I brush my teeth and spit. I hope that the blood is from my gums, but It doesn't bleed when I brush regularly. I am really good at lying. So, I just tell myself that it isn't a big deal. 

As I write this, I know that my actions are dangerous. I know that it is wrong, but I also know that I crave that moment that I get after the numbness goes away. 

It's been about two years on and off. I keep telling myself that it will fade... the desire. I guess I am hoping that it will. 

I am 26 years old. I am 5 ft 1.5 inches and I weigh roughly 121 lbs. 

I look at children sometimes and I envy their body. 

I look at myself and more often than not, I hate what I see. 

I look at people smaller than me and I find them beautiful.
I look at people bigger than me and I find them beautiful.
I have nothing to change about them.
yet, Id change so much about me.

I am a mess. 

I am at Rock Bottom. 

I am so quick to wish everyone happiness, and safety and joy..

I am not sure that I know what that even means.