I Keep Running Back To You

Wow, nearly three years since my last post.  It doesn't seem that long ago.  Memories of my ED consuming every waking and sleeping thought are still so close.  Like a dream, or maybe nightmare.  I think if I reach out, eyes closed, my fingers would brush the past.  In a way they do.  That's why I am here.  This blog is still my secret sanctuary.  It is still place I run to for comfort from [inspiration for] every disordered thought.

Obligatory update: I have purged exactly once since my last post. After a binge and bout of self pity.  My weight is exactly 29.7 pounds higher than my pre-pregnancy low weight.  Which means my self worth is exactly 29.7 pounds lower. 

I gained a total of fifty fucking pounds during pregnancy.  I quickly dropped thirty of that, but my weight (if you do the simple math) is creeping back up. 

Is that why I'm here? Fuck you brain. Sweep up the scattered pieces and put them in neat rows. Work. Child. Chores. Sleep. Eat. Eat. Eat. You fat fucking pig.

Through the hazy [edge-blurring] filter of time, I miss the cold embrace of Ana and Mia and sometime Bed.  I miss the dizzy, head-floating-away feeling of starving. Of being cold, shivering, and bruised. I miss feeling strong enough to tell chocolate-and-bread-and-hummus-and-fruit-and-vegetables-and-air to go fuck themselves.  I don't need you. 

Now seven hours without food feels like a fast. Weak. Pathetic.

Even knowing these are disordered thoughts, I can't seem to push them aside. I feel them. I want them.  Maybe just a little fast. To see if I still can. Then I will stop.

Because I can stop any time I want. Right? I can choose to make these voices stop. Make these feelings go away. I won't be broken forever, right?

Right?