Not a goddamned pound...

So I'll try to make this quick because I should be working or having breakfast or something productive like that.

A few months ago, when I was still nursing the baby and, therefore, having to eat a healthy amount every day, my fiancee took away my scale. He knew that I was weighing more than once a day and that not having access to a scale would "help" me. Well, it did and it didn't, apparently.

I asked for it back yesterday because I am starting the INSANITY workout program and would like to track my progress. He agreed to return it as long as I promised to be healthy about my weight loss (obviously no starving, purging, etc.). I promised.

I weighed myself this morning in the usual fashion (after the bathroom, before drinking my glass of water). It's been three months and ...

Nothing. Not a single pound lost. In fact, if I remember my weight correctly from before, it's possible that I've GAINED since the baby.

OMFG are you kidding me?

1
7
5
.

Not even kidding. 175 pounds?! I'm a monster. I figured that maybe, just MAYBE, I had taken all of those nauseating diet pills for a reason, that maybe they had done SOME good, SOMEhow. Oh no. Not even close.

And now I've confirmed what I've known for months. I have to slow down on, if not STOP entirely, the drinking at night. I'm positive that that's the only thing holding me back. I can eat beautifully all day long, topping out at about 1,000 calories (if not less), and then ruin it all by drinking a bottle of wine every night. That's more alcohol calories than food calories. And it's pure sugar/carbs.

Now the question is: How do I stop drinking when it's what I look forward to every single evening?

It's what he said that kills me in this...

I don't have the time for a long post (though I am, as you know, quite fond of them).

I'm cooking bacon for my family. Fucking bacon. For BLTs. Oh, yes. They're his favorite. And the little one (five years old) doesn't mind them).

But this isn't the point of my finally coming back to Blogger... No. When I'm drinking to forget EVERYTHING... That's when I tend to come here. To seek out my oldest and truest friends. To say what I need to say and know that it will strike at least ONE chord... Somewhere in the universe.

So. I've told him before... about everything. He says he understands that I was once in a very dark place regarding myself, my body image, my EVERYTHING. And yet...

I had his baby six months ago. I'm in recovery from something that could have killed me. I struggle HOURLY with thoughts of returning to that lifestyle, just so that I COULD BE THIN. I can't eat in the mornings because I dare not disturb the beauty that is HUNGRY. EMPTY. PURE.

Getting back to the point that was so eloquently (albeit briefly) delineated in the title of this post. He told me yesterday, while we were lounging at the pool with our two daughters, that he has been "frustrated" over the past "few months" that I'm not yet in shape... that I'm not the same size as I was when I met him... That he can't WAIT until I am back to the way I was before the baby... ... ... ...

I didn't know how to respond. Honestly, I think I look pretty OKAY for having two kids and just having had my last one six months ago.

Apparently, every time that he said I looked good, he said, he did so in order to keep me from feeling bad about myself.

...

If that isn't a trigger to go down the wrong road, I don't know WTF is.

...

I'm going to stop now so that I can make dinner for everyone. And pretend to eat. And this is why I fucking drink so goddamn much.

I love you all. I miss you so much.

I just wannabe...

I want to be young and pretty again. I used to be both (though I didn't realize or appreciate it at the time), but now I am neither. I am 25. Yes, young in the eyes of some, but I am twice that age now, if not older.

I was thin and beautiful and energetic and motivated.
I am now the mother of two, older in soul and body than ever before and more jaded than ever.

That last remark may not be true. It just feels that way at this moment. I can't complain, though, because it's driven me to write again. There's your silver lining.

Am I destined to live this life forever? I wake up early to make breakfast and lunch for my fiancee despite the fact that I've woken up at least twice to take care of our youngest daughter (currently six months old). I can't get back to sleep after because my mind is racing through the events of the week, the day and the night before. Add in the day to come and it's a wonder I ever catch a few Zs after he leaves for work.

When I *do* wake up, I am sluggish and hungry, wishing for nothing but more sleep. A full day of sleep. A full day of unconsciousness. I want to ignore the world and my life for just one day.

Every day.

When I was young and beautiful, I was constantly tortured by an invention of my own device. I was thoroughly insane with regard to my appearance, to my sense of control over myself. I was thin (and that equals beautiful in my mind) and I was killing myself slowly. Various medications, strenuous workouts and an undying dedication to an impossible ideal helped push me through my days.

Every day, I woke up thinner. Lighter. More determined than ever to reach my ultimate goal.

And yet I failed. Or, rather, I succeeded in recovery. I spent so much time and money on recovering, only to find myself pregnant, removed from my home, my university, my friends and my family. Removed and dropped right down into another life altogether. Nothing was constant anymore. Perfect time to turn your world upside down, just as you're beginning recovery. Ideal, if you're looking for a good excuse to relapse.

I have so much to say here, but the long post will surely bore anyone, even my longtime readers and loyal sisters here. I miss you all so much. I realize that what I'm doing is probably not healthy (HA! "Probably," she says). I don't care. Not at this point. Maybe I'll come to my senses suddenly and realize that life without my ED *is* actually better. For now, though, I am caught between this feeling of need and this feeling of responsibility. The need for control over all that occurs should obviously be inspected by a therapist of some sort. The feeling of responsibility should be considerably lessened by the fact that I have a significant other who has insisted that he will gladly help in any way that he can.

But he doesn't. He can't. He can't help me stop wanting to be a perfect mother, a perfect wife, a perfect human being. I will strive for these things endlessly, regardless of the consequences.

And I shall continue on another day. Thank you for reading, my darlings.

As always, stay lovely.

-Phantasmagorical Delusion