It dawned on me today that I’ve gone almost seven weeks without a severe binge/breakdown.
Yes, I’ve had several “bad days” where I’ve consumed FAR more than I should, but I haven’t totally lost control.
Yes, I’ve had a few days where I popped a diuretic or a laxative – but not an entire package.
[I’m ashamed to say I’ve done that before. It’s RIDICULOUSLY painful. And God forbid you sneeze.]
While I’m still upset
on a daily basis regarding my weight, my size, my shape, and my overall fitness, I haven’t succumbed to the monster inside me that begs for my weakness.
But I’ve thought about it.
God, I think about it all the time.
I imagine what would happen if I did it. I play through the steps in my mind.
- Four Bloat-less pills for maximize water loss.
- At least 9 Correctols to ensure the cramping and pain is sufficient to punish me for my binge and powerful enough to eject everything not nailed down from my intestines.
- Two caffeine pills to ensure I can’t sit still. If you’re moving, you’re burning calories.
- A Bronkaid to kill my appetite for the future.
Pop all of them, back to back, and chase it with as much water as I can hold. Fight the gag reflex as my body responds in a Pavlovian fashion, always aware of the pain I’m trying to induce and fighting against me. Body versus mind, mind versus body.
The memory of pain isn’t enough to convince the mind that it isn’t worth it.
The mind wins.
You don’t have to be a pharmacist to know the concoction above is horrible, if not potentially fatal, and yet I will admit I’ve done it before
and will likely do it again.
Today, though, is a mini success. I’ve made it at least seven weeks. I pray for seven more, then seven more after that, and seven, and seven, and seven again for all eternity.
But for now, I’ll accept today. Today is a good day.