I want so badly to turn on the tv and binge right now. This morning was my meeting, and afterwards I met with my sponsor at a coffee shop/deli where we talked over lunch. I ate a small salad without dressing and a cup of coffee. I'm hungry, I don't want my stomach to expand any more than it already has, and I'm hating my mother. No more excuses.
I'm angry for the way she reacted to my story about Angela yesterday. I'm wanting so desperately for her approval, for her to tell me what a beautiful person I am, be it through my writing, my character, my achievements, and I keep falling short.
I was given great advice today in group: "Let God give her what she deserves, dammit." I'm not spiritual, or at least my relationship with something greater than myself has not yet evolved, but I find comfort knowing I'm not in control to judge.
Yet, I'm falling into a repetitive trap. When I asked for her feedback from the story yesterday, she responded by saying she didn't read my writing very carefully, that she wasn't interested in my writing style. She wanted to know my secrets, what I kept hidden from her, from you, from everyone in my life. I want to rip out my crying heart, place it in her hands and scream, "Here! This pain is what I've been hiding. My heart feels like it's been attacked by a Rottweiler, and you were the one who let go of its leash. Do you want to know that I've thrown up in a neighborhood street after bingeing on 3 large pizzas I took home from a work meeting? It was late at night and I drove around for 10 minutes looking for a deserted street where I could throw up, knowing I couldn't purge at home where Mathias sat waiting for my return. Do you want to know I vomited in a parking lot last year at the Laguna Seca raceway? Mathias was watching cars race around a track while I retreated to the car, bingeing on peanuts and protein bars I found in the car, then went to the hill overlooking the track and threw it all up. Or that I was actually purging the Icee I was drinking when we were driving through North Carolina looking at colleges 10 years ago, when you pulled over to the side of the road to let me be sick, claiming my stomach was unsettled from all of the sugar. I even purged the dinner we ate at Chili's during that trip, not throwing up until we got back to the hotel. I locked myself in the bathroom and ran the faucet and shower to cover my sound, quietly puking up my meal while you talked to dad about our day. Is that what you want to hear?!!!!!"
But I don't say those things. I make small talk, thank her for spending the time and effort to read my writing, talk about my day and my recovery like her comments haven't hurt me, and repress. She has her life, she doesn't understand how important her words are to me, I'm 26 fucking years old whining about my relationship with my mother.
It's nice to hear someone say God will give us what we deserve. Right now I deserve not to live with this disease. For my mom, she deserves to hear that.
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