A true EDNOS

These days I'm a true Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified.

I don't usually binge on enough food, or binge and purge consistently enough, to be classified as bulimic, yet I do it often enough that it isn't just occasional and it's probably slightly more serious than a bad habit.

I don't restrict enough to lose much weight (maybe a pound a week, and usually only for spurts of 2-4 weeks at a time these days), and yet I restrict enough that I feel in control of my food intake, and I often deprive myself of the things I really do want.

I've tried intuitive eating a few times, but I never trust that my body will actually have "proper" hunger and fullness cues, and I will actually gain weight while eating the way my body "wants" in order to be "properly nourished" or whatever. In other words, I'm afraid I will overeat, my stomach will expand because of this, and I won't be satiated with proper amounts of food after that because the stomach will be bigger and want more food than I actually need. I don't know how much of that is a legitimate fear and how much is complete crap.

I still associate maintaining, or losing, weight with, among other things, likeability and acceptability in the world. I am terrified of gaining a lot of weight, and some days only barely tolerate my current figure. On the other hand, I have some days where I think the whole notion that I have to be skinny to be acceptable is just ridiculous, and I can look at myself in the mirror and see a normal-sized person who has some smallish good points (like my arms, wrists, calves). But some days I still look at myself and see rolls of fat everywhere, a HUGE midsection; a whale or hippo or elephant in general.

And, of course, I still get the occasional urges to comfort-eat, or, as in last night, to eat high-sugar things because I'm extremely tired and sugar always spikes my energy levels pretty much right away. I'm pretty sure, these days, that I'm a sugar addict. This is why I try to stay away from things that are mostly pure sugar (such as candy or regular soda) most of the time, because I have been addicted to sugar before and I know that I could be again. Most of my problems in this department can be alleviated greatly when I get enough sleep, but I don't always get enough sleep, so when I know I'm tired it's a LOT more work to resist the urges to "binge" on sugariffic things.

So what it is, in a nutshell, is this: me being pulled by three separate "sub-clinical" disorders at varying points. I call it that because none of them are exactly life-threatening or completely life-overtaking at the moment. Bulimia, anorexia (well, restriction), and compulsive overeating. All still have little niggling thoughts fluttering around in my brain, wishing they had chances to pounce. And it's very very confusing, and often very tiresome. Mostly I just have to count my calories and make sure I don't "eat too much", and the cals usually range somewhere around 1000-1200 or so. Enough that I'm not starving, but not enough that I have any doubts that I'm going to gain weight. And that seems to be the only way I can live.

Sometimes I think I should see a nutritionist, but I'm not sure I'd even want to follow a meal plan; but then again, I always wonder what of my knowledge about nutrition is just paranoia on my part, and what is actually fact, and sometimes I think it would be nice to be set straight.

So that is an update on the food life of me. Have fun, kiddos. ;)

Lonely.

Disordered or not, in the end, that one fact doesn't ever seem to change. I never find anybody to whom I can connect on that deepest, most intimate level. I try to fool myself -- I try to assure myself that these less-deep connections I have forged with others is adequate enough -- but after awhile of having the connections I do, my mind and heart start to branch out and want more. Greed, I can only suppose. Only -- is it a greed that is essential to being fulfilled? If I never fulfill it, will I actually be able to continue on living life as if it is actually okay?

I feel like if I talk about disordered things, it will break me inside. As if by telling you I am destroying whatever was inside me that wanted me to do those things. And yet I feel like I'm not actually disordered at all if that can happen. I'm just some poseur going through the motions at yet another ludicrously stupid attempt to fit in.

The fact is, I just don't fit in. Anywhere. Not fully; not completely. I'm like a piece of the puzzle that has edges missing, or that isn't quite the right shape. I can squeeze in, or plop myself down; but either way, I don't fit the way I am supposed to. There is always something askew. And I don't think this is ever, ever going to change. That's just the way things are and have always been, and I can't see why in the future they will be any different. So why do I even try at all? I don't know. I guess I'm a bit terrified that if I don't try, I'll go back to anything or everything that I did before, and I was so tired of all that shit. Even now, I am tired of it. And yet part of me really wants it back so, so badly.

Why must I be stuck continually in limbo? I can't even get angry about it, because true anger within me seems to have died. I think I am just afraid of it -- afraid of what will happen to me if I do get angry. Right now this almost makes me want to provoke it, to try and make myself go back to disorders. I'm just that fucking desperate and sad and motherfucking STUPID that I WANT to give myself something that other people have for years or decades and would do anything to discard.

The problem is, those people probably have the ability to really, truly fit in wherever their natural niches are when they're not disordered. And I... don't seem to. So maybe I am not them, and don't have to be them. Maybe I can forcibly shove myself back into a disorder, and maybe I can spend my life as a fucking nutcase, and maybe then I don't have to face the fact that wherever I go, I'm never actually right, and it is always awkward, and I am always, essentially, alone.

I'm the biggest fucking idiot on the face of the planet.

I'm tired of having all the eating disordered thoughts, but almost none of the behaviors.
Ideally, I'd get rid of all the thoughts; but, of course, this is not an ideal world in which we live.

So, day by day, I remain in limbo: wanting the behaviors, not participating in them, hating myself, participating for awhile, getting sick of it, stopping, and then wanting the behaviors all over again. Vicious circle... annoying circle.
I wish somebody could make this see-saw balance.

On a not-so-unrelated note: I really need to start exercising more. Maybe swimming? Lane swims perhaps? That would get me in shape a bit, wouldn't it?

I don't want to be unhealthy, but I do want to be thin.

I don't want to get caught in the ED shit again, but I want to lose some weight.

I don't want to get completely obsessed with and anxious about food, but I don't want people to judge me as having a pudgy stomach, gross love handles, too much flab in general.

I don't want to feel like the ED is the only thing I have left in the world, but I don't want to have to be reliant on other people for my happiness.

I don't want to bring myself close to death yet AGAIN, but I don't want to fail at life either, and I always seem to want to have a back door.

So WHAT the FUCK do I DO!?!?!?

Well, I should probably update, since I didn't exactly leave you all with a great post last time. The reason you haven't seen many posts by me over the last couple of weeks, if anybody was wondering, is because I've been in Florida. Where I actually had a pretty good time for the most part, by the way. I have, however, noticed that when I get tired, I get a hundred times more depressed and despairing and hopeless -- a circumstance I have yet to figure out the exact reasons for. Anyway, after I'd had some decent sleep, I got up feeling substantially better. Even if I hadn't, though, I'd be fighting those sorts of feelings, or at least acting on them, with everything I had. I'm determined not to let the suicide ideation stuff come back and/or take over my life. I really really want to be done with that. I wasted enough time trying to die; now I want to try to live. If that's even possible.

As for food... well, the truth is, I actually don't want to talk about how I'm eating right now. Asking me about it will be futile, as I will refuse to tell you.

Uhh... I guess that's all, really. I'm alive and doing okay and starting work on Monday and hopefully sort of getting on with life. And that's all that can really be expected for now. I'm no superhero; I'm not doing grand or wonderful things. I'm simply being me, trying to get by, trying to fulfill some expectations from both myself and other people. And I am... okay. Okay is better than horrible. For now, I can live with okay.

Patience. Patience is a virtue for a reason. I must have patience.

My life is completely worthless, and so am I.

That just about sums up everything right now.

My friend has to go to the hospital under the eating disorders protocol of the general psych unit tomorrow. I'm upset... but, more than that, I'm actually jealous. It's sad that I want to be sick enough for someone to pay attention to me like that... but I do. I really do. And it really makes me want to go back to doing all that ED shit, to get the attention... or something... argh.

That, and I really am worried about my friend, too.

But mostly jealous.

I have a stupid, fucked-up brain.