Once again, DH complained about how much time my WW/calorie counting was taking. I tried again to explain that if I want to be successful, you really have to devote yourself. That I was actually spending much less time than I used to. His response?
"I guess it's better to obsess about all that stuff than to not care at all"... ahh how he's so great at triggering me.
It's funny, too... he knows about my past. My 13 year struggle that had me hospitalized once (almost 3 times), left me with irreversible damage, and caused a mini-heart attack and refeeding syndrome. When I met him, I was finally getting healthy, for good. I stopped purging and starving. I let go of my 24 inch waist and gave up my hip bones and visible ribcage. When we first started dating, I told him of my struggles and he saw the after effects, but never really saw me in the trenches of illness (or recovery, really, cause the worst was over). Yea, I had a few slips, but never anything horrid.
Then, almost right after we met, I started getting really sick (not ED-related), and after a year I was diagnosed with Lupus (a full-body inflammatory autoimmune disease). I've had other problems too, including migraines (whose treatments caused a 30 pound weight gain in less than two months), and cysts in both my breast and ovaries. Treatment for my Lupus is steroid bursts/cycles, which also means weight gain. At first I didn't mind. I didn't care if I gained 20 pounds each cycle - the relief the pills gave me from debilitating joint pain made it worth it. But after numerous cycles, and then the migraine meds, I found myself this winter 75 pounds heavier than when I met the DH 3 years ago.
While he is usually quiet, I know he is not attracted to me anymore - when I went from 170 to 195 and then back down to 175 in 2009, he told me at 195 he found me very unattractive. This December I weighed 20 pounds more than my heaviest. Although I want to be happy and healthy, at this weight, I am not happy. Or healthy, really. I don't leave the house because I don't want to run into people I used to know. I can't get a job because of my illness, but even if I could, I wouldn't want to in case someone sees me.
So in Feb, I decided to embrace my former lifestyle fully. Except purging. I would, I really would purge, but my back teeth on top are both chipped (I really need to go to the dentist but my fear is greater than anything else), and I know if I purge I'll make it worse and possibly cause abcesses. Somehow, my fear of the dentist is so great that it stops me from purging. I have slipped a few times, but I won't do it long term, cause I cannot handle dentists. This takes a large part of the danger away - the imbalances and damage caused by purging is much worse than those in a very low calorie lifestyle.
I have struggled a little at first, since it's because it's been so long since I've done this dance. But it gets easier each week. And with little *comments* from the DH, I keep going, stronger after each failure.
The best part? I think I am unintentionally making him the perfect Ana buddy. It hurts when he says things, but it pushes me on, too. Like when he asks if I'm really going to eat a second popsicle (even though it's sugar free and only 15 calories and I'm dizzy from lack of food), I put it back. I make him think I'm being normal, and that I was just way out of control before, when I was "healthy". This way, if I do lose what I want to (and my goal is a place I know raises eyebrows from family and friends), I'll have him all confused when he realizes the things he says are actually triggers. That he's wrong with his statements. He'll be on my side (even if it is unintentional). I'll be able to convince him I'm okay longer than I will be with others.
Because here's my truth I've only started to realize - I'm going to do this until it kills me. The sad reality is I'm happier when I starve than when I'm "healthy". No matter how depressed I was when I starved, I was infinitely happier than where I am at now. To feel like I cannot leave my own house, to feel trapped because of the fat on my body? It makes the thought of living... soo... hard. So I'm re-embracing what I had known for so long. And I plan to never stop. This is my lifestyle, my disease, but one that I CHOSE to embrace because, in the end, my life is only worthwhile when I am thin.
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