Dear All of You,
I’m writing so I don’t binge, now isn’t that a first?
Sidenote before I answer the writing prompt for the week:
I keep thinking that not caring if I binge is some sort of huge milestone because I used to worry about that so much.
This worry plus purging is why I had so many problems in the past (like having to take 3 medical leaves from college and graduate 3 years late).
However, bingeing is still a huge problem.
I didn’t fix everything by not purging anymore.
I’m basically doing the exact same thing except that now I curl up into a ball and wait for the food to stop physically coming up my throat rather than go throw it up.
I’m frustrated because I don’t know what to do.
I’ve said “binge all you want, I don’t care” because I thought showing you all I’m not trying to control you would somehow make a difference.
It did make a difference for a few brief windows where we were just eating and not bingeing or restricting, and all this weight was finally starting to come off without even thinking about it, and that was so amazing. I can’t even describe the feeling. It was like being normal, but on steroids.
But between those windows have been nothing but either binge fests or lying in bed not eating anything for days.
We’ve gained a massive amount of weight and our diet is extremely unhealthy. People without eating disorders (like my doctor) agree with that, it’s not all in my head. My concern goes beyond the weight and the physical unhealthiness – this is doing so much emotional damage to you as well.
I just don’t know what to do anymore.
I’m not saying this as in “I’m now going to step back up and take control again.”
I’m too tired for that. I also know it doesn’t work.
I just feel sad, like I’ve laid out this nice tea party for us all to sit down and enjoy and you all just came in and smashed all the china, threw tea all over the walls, and ground cookies into the carpet.
You have every reason to go crazy.
You have done nothing but been put down and bullied and yelled at and name-called and tormented. If someone did that to me for years and then suddenly let me out, I also would probably go crazy and party it up for a while.
We all live here, though. And I’m not cleaning up your mess. I’m not your mom (moms shouldn’t have to do stuff like that). And I’m too tired. I’m in bed and I don’t want to ever get out. Smashing all my china doesn’t make me want to pay attention to you.
Even if I do pay attention to you, you never tell me anything coherent. You just tell me you want more food, and I say fine go get some, and then you cry for some reason, and I’m just tired so I go back to bed.
If you want something other than food, you need to say it.
I just can’t play psychologist and guess all the time. Like, “She wants pecan pie and her brother’s favorite dessert is pecan pie, so she must want to fill the hole that her brother left with his aloofness and blatant dislike of everything about her.”
Just tell me you feel sad and alone and ashamed and violated and you don’t know why such a terrible terrible thing happened and why time is still going by and why everyone is telling you to just get over it and you agree completely with them but you still can’t get over it for some reason and it’s driving you crazy and so you just eat because that’s the only thing you know how to do to take care of yourself when no one is there to take care of you even though you are an adult now (how/when did that happen?) and are supposed to know how to take care of yourself like a normal person.
And after that, also tell me what to do, because I just don’t know what to do with all that information.
They’re just words, no actions. You can crawl in here with me and just cry, but I don’t see what that will accomplish.
OK, I’m just going to put the actual writing prompt on a separate letter because this side note turned out to be much longer than a side note.
Ana (age 25)