Loony

Oh, man.  I'm still sleep deprived as I arrive at week six.  42 days without bingeing and purging.  It's incomprehensible.  I was swapping stories with a new member of the ABA group yesterday.  I heard myself saying out loud that a little over six weeks ago my behaviors were as follows: I would weep before taking a shower, sometimes preparing myself for hours just to make it underneath the running water; my only priority was my eating disorder, so sick that I was bingeing and purging sometimes up to 18 hours a day.  The newcomer helped me realize how effortless it is to doll out advice, but how the sword will pull out its other edge and point it in the opposite direction deftly and without sound.  "You haven't eaten anything today except for grapes?  Well, eventually you will die with this disease," I heard my voice echo against the bare walls. I came home last night after spending a few hours with my ABA friends at the meeting.  My anxiety literally forced me to pace the walls of the meeting room.  I have never before witnessed someone incapable of sitting for an hour's time in a support meeting.  I have been moving non-stop for 48 hours, and I still have difficulty sitting for stretches of time.  I cannot handle feeling like I need to be locked up in a loony bin.  Only a couple hours after blatantly advising the newcomer about her food choices (inherently not my place to do so), I was buckling with anxiety, quivering as I walked into our apartment, painting a picture of my past few hours before you with a trembling hand.  And what is your advice?  "You need to eat more, Stephanie."  I burst into tears.  

It's as simple as that.