Day 26

Weight: 162
BFP: 38.7%

So I’ve lost 2 pounds and .1% of my body fat this past week.  That’s not so bad.

Last night was…difficult for me.  The tacos were great, but I had no idea how filling they were going to be.  Matt and I each ate two, when one was more than enough.  I should have listened to my first instinct and just stuck with one.  I don’t think there was anything wrong with the tacos themselves, because Matt was fine.  So I don’t know if it was just that they reacted badly with me, or that I ate too much, or what, but I got so sick.  I tried laying still, walking around, chewing mint gum, drinking mint tea, I tried everything I could think of, and still I felt like I was going to throw up.  Around the second hour of this I started to worry about food poisoning.  Yes, 
Matt was just fine, but I’ve always been more sensitive to these things.  I wasn’t exactly sure what was wrong, I only knew that I seriously thought I was going to be very sick.  So I did something I promised myself years ago I would never do again.  I made myself sick.  I brought up about half the meal, and that was enough to make me feel better.  But at the same time, I felt terrible.  The entire time I kept asking myself why the hell I used to do this voluntarily every day, a few times a day.  And while, yes, there was a tiny voice in the back of my head that kept saying, “Well, you’ve done it now, might as well finish the job,” mostly I kept thinking, “Please, for the love of god, let this be the time to bring up whatever’s making me sick so I can stop.”

I don’t know if this means I’ve relapsed or not.  On the one hand, I was sick.  I suffered for hours before I used purging as a last resort.  And I left much of the meal on my stomach, something I would have never done before.  There also wasn’t that sick satisfaction I used to get at the end, the, “That’s right, I did this,” feeling.  I’d completely forgotten about that until last night.  I used to be so pleased every time I threw up and didn’t get caught, so proud of myself, like I was doing something wonderful.  Last night I just felt dirty.  I still get that feeling of pride, though now it’s when I complete a work out, or eat something healthy.

In favor of relapse, however, there’s the fact that I did go into that bathroom and bring up what I had eaten.  I keep telling myself, yeah, I was sick, but was it because I ate too much?  If it is, then this is all my doing, and I just resorted to old habits to fix it.

But it’s not like I was all, “Oh, I ate too much, I’m going to gain weight.  I must fix this.”  I was under budget yesterday.  I ate too much, yes, but I didn’t bring up my meal because of that, I did it because I felt very sick and I was miserable.  I even tried going to sleep, hoping I’d digest while unconscious.  Didn’t work.

I feel like I’m trying to rationalize my actions to myself.  Maybe I am.  I just wish I could go back and change yesterday, only make a taco each for Matt and I, then put the rest away for later.  But you can’t change the past, only live with the consequences.

I feel like crap today.  I didn’t have the energy to complete my work out, so I basically dragged myself through it.  I don’t know if it’s because I didn’t have my full dinner on my stomach last night, or if it was from my lack of sleep.  I was up late last night thinking about what I’d done and what that meant for my recovery.  I guess I just have to pick myself up and move on.