The road to recovery reflections on the past 6ivrz

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The Road to Recovery: Reflections on the Past: "6ivrz sorrow words: thrz grirz/ thtJI dorz$ not .:;przak whi$przrs thrz oizr-fraught hrztJrt and bid.:; it brrztJk." - Wil!itJm <E5htJkfZ$PfZtJrrz The following entries were not written while fully entrenched in my eating disorder, but rather recently in the Fall and Spring term, 2002-2003, of my senior year, in moments of remembrance and introspection about my past. Writing them made my stomach hurt, writing them made my hands shake, and writing them made me feel the pain again. I cannot say that the writing experience of the following entries was a positive one, nor can I deem it as being purely negative. Rather, they were cathartic, humbling, emotionally taxing, and agonizing ... but I was able to write these experiences down, which is an accomplishment in my opinion .... I did not run away from the torture, the sorrow, the grief of having an eating disorder, recovering from an eating disorder, and the loss of the old Self that I experience as I slowly confront my eating disorder. I gave my voice words to speak, and through that, I have gained a sense of introspection .... 77
I needed to coli my coach and my other teammates-as president of the forensics and debate team it was my duty to call them as a reminder of when to bring their checks in for the next tournament, then 1 had to report back to my coach. I stared at the white phone. I was sitting there, in my spot underneath my desk-in the area that I kept the food that I put in my mouth and then spit out. I stared at the phone. I told myself that there was a pecan pie downstairs and that if I didn't pick up that damn phone I was going to eat it all and throw it up-that was that. Counting 1 ... 2 ••• 3 ... 4 ... S ... 6 ... 7 ... 8 ... 9 •• ohmigod 10, I dialed the phone. But no one answered. No one answered. I sucked. I was a failure. Should have called earlier. Bull did dial, so I shouldn't have to eat the whole pie I reasoned. Only a few Kudos bars. Just a few. Then some milk. Milk is easy to come up. Just slides right out of the mouth as easily and lucidly it slides out of the bottle. So I rushed downstairs, didn't look at my dog laying there far she might bring me back to the reality of how sick I felt, I threw open the cabinet doors, scrounged for a Kudos bar-you know the thin ones that have little, semi-sweet M&M's in them. The ones that only have 90 calories as apposed to the others that have 120 and above cause they are coated with milk chocolate. I ate one standing up. I then ate another, while staring blankly at the cabinet. Then another. I wanted to spit them out. I didn't want to swallow, but it was my punishment for being so stupid and waiting to call. I rushed over to the freezer, dug my bare hand into the tub of low-fat Healthy Choice cappuccino ice cream and shoved it in my mouth. Then I dug again and again until my nails were turning blue from the cold and my hands were aching from frostbite. I liked the ache-it was real pain; it was there, I could see the frostbite, I could see the blueness, I could see what I was hurting.

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