<sigh> Where to begin. This will be long and probably sporadic. I'd understand if you wanted to skip over it, but I really hope somebody can give me some help.
First some background. My mother is a severe alcoholic. I grew up watching addiction. Feeling the hope on the good days, celebrating the little progressions, and then the disappointment, anger, fear on the relapses. On one hand I just wanted her to be normal and to put the drink down, but I grew up watching her *struggle* with it. Maybe I just have a deeper understanding of the mental/emotional struggle with a disorder than other people because I watched her WANT to put the drink down but not be able to. Also, because of her drinking, I was alone most of my childhood and learned to use food as comfort, something to do, "company," and also as something I could control.
Well throughout my childhood and very early adult years (I'm 22), I turned out quite well considering my upbringing. I went to an elite prep school back East, got a full ride scholarship and just graduated college near the top of my class. Never got in trouble, never hung out with the wrong crowd. I was always chubby, but even still, my eating wasn't all that disordered. I ate too much fast food, could definitely eat more than my fair share of junk food, didn't exercise enough. I even had a few days when I turned to a tub of ice cream because I was just upset. That's not healthy behavior, but it wasn't anything that deviated way outside the boundaries of normal. I wasn't a serious overeater or anything. I wanted to lose weight, but I just wasn't psychotic about it.
I met my now-husband two years ago. We fell in love fast and were talking about a future together early on. About six months after we met, he went to Iraq. I decided to use that year to get healthy. And get healthy I did. My healthy decisions snowballed quickly. It started out as just cutting back and playing on Wii Fit. But as I was motivated by real results on the scale, my plan got more specific. I truly did lose weight in a healthy smart way. I was not obsessed with counting calories, rather, I enjoyed putting together menus that were healthy and tasty. A treat now and then didn't derail me, in fact, I planned them. The whole thing was a fun healthy hobby for me, and I was loving myself more and more. I was proud of my results, how I looked, how great I felt. I told my then-fiance, who was still in Iraq, and he was proud of me and assured me that I was beautiful no matter what. I was happier than I ever had been before.
Then he came home. And PLEASE, I am NOT saying that I became unhappy because he came home. But it began a domino effect, of sorts, that have brought me to where I am today. He came home from a year in Iraq and moved in with me. I was thrilled to have him home, but there was that awkward period where we had to get to know each other all over again. Suddenly I wasn't an eating buddy who could drink beers and eat pizza every night. He wanted me to "eat normal." He wanted me to cook his favorite foods like cheesy enchiladas, meatloaf, etc. I wanted to do this for him too, since heck, I love him and he just spent a year at war. So I would make him his greasy cheesy delicious foods, and I would eat my "on plan" meals. This didn't bother me one bit, I cooked it, cleaned up after it, and didn't mind any of it. He wanted us to eat *together* as in eat the same things. I can understand this, I really can, but I needed him to understand that it was hard for me. I tried for a couple days to eat light during the day, eat a small portion of the greasy unhealthy food and a big salad, but I was just hungry and unsatisfied. So ever since, we'd been trying to find a balance between Megan-food and Sean-food and who eats what, etc.
Well on top of that stress, I graduated college three months after he got home. Then three days later we got married. Then two weeks later we moved to a new state. I had a new routine, was in a new place, didn't know anybody, so that was stressful. Most of the stress was from positive things, but stressful nonetheless. I was thrilled to be married, to graduate, even moving has been exciting. I am not unhappy with those changes, but they've thrown my "on plan" eating out of whack. I binged. It started out as just one bad day. Then we'd have friends over and I'd have another bad day. My dreadful all or nothing mentality makes me think "Ugh, I'm going to have a bad dinner tonight, might as well just screw it for the day" so I binge. I had about three weeks of just bad eating. A few days thrown in. I was up 6 pounds and mad at myself...that was NOT me. So I told my husband. I told him what I'd been doing, and I was ashamed, but also relieved to tell somebody. I told him I'd been sneaking food and eating it in private. I told him this needed to quit. I also explained to him where a lot of my food problems stemmed from. Using it as a coping mechanism as a child, then having self esteem issues, etc. I told him that I soooo desperately needed him to show me that he loves me and that he thinks I'm beautiful no matter if I'm up 6 lbs and that we can get over this little bump together.
Well, again my all or nothing mentality. I felt like I'd had three weeks of bad eating, I was up on the scale, I needed to remedy the situation. I needed to grasp some control back. I needed to restrict for a few days for damage control. So restrict I did. I have eaten 600 calories for about the last week. Nothing healthy. Big bowls of popcorn because it makes me feel full. I knew it was wrong, unhealthy, completely against my beloved plan. I knew it was stupid while I was doing it. But I craved that control feeling. To be in control again, back on the horse, telling myself "no" to food I wanted to eat. I wanted that again. I am not justifying it, but those were the thoughts in my head.
Well last night my husband and I went to dinner with some friends. I had bad heartburn to the point where I got fainty...that cold sweat, shaky, dizzy headrush feeling. I stood up, and my husband came with me while I got some air. I told him flat out...I'm hurting myself, I know it's dumb, I need your help to get back on the right track. I started feeling better, went back and sat down for dinner. Perhaps since we were with friends, he showed loving behavior. Squeezed my hand and smiled at me. I ate most of my large place of grilled tuna and sauted veggies and even a piece of bread with some butter on it. I am not afraid to put food in my mouth. It was a healthy meal, I enjoyed it, and I was looking forward to having the support of my husband while I planned good healthy balanced meals when I got home. Starving myself is NOT something I do. It was a bad week, it was dumb, I don't want to do that nonsense. I like being a healthy vibrant person that eats good nourishing food.
Welllll...we got home, went to bed, and I was eager to talk about it in the morning. I wanted to tell him my healthy plans. But then all fit hit the shan. He told me our entire marriage has been a lie. If he had known I was a binge eater and anorexic before, he wouldn't have married me. He said it wouldn't be a divorce, it would just be an anullment. I tried to tell him that I understood his anger and frustration, and that I was angry and frustrated at myself for this stupid week, but I was getting on back on track. I begged him to have some compassion, not just anger. He said he couldn't, how could he have compassion for a problem that was in my control to fix. (This is where I think that I might just have a better understanding of disordered thinking. He doesn't understand how difficult it is for me to just "eat normal"). What I absolutely desperately need most from him is a hug. An "I love you, and I support you." I can understand his anger, but I need some overlap with love. At first he said he was hard on me with anger because he loved me. Not five minutes later he said he doesn't love me right now. He said he wasn't attracted to me.
He walked off, and I'm not sure where he went or if he'll come back. I'm heartbroken, ashamed that our marriage is in such shambles after two months, disgusted with myself that I could let 6lbs make such a catastrophe of my life. I'm not sure if I should pack up my things and leave. I'm feeling desperate and terribly...horribly alone and abandoned. I still need that hug. The "I love you." From somebody, anybody, at this point. But I'm too ashamed to call my friends or family. I also feel numb, I'm not letting myself feel the depth of all the emotions quite yet...I'm still in survival mode to figure out my next move and then I'll let all the sad and hurt and fear in.
But you better believe I'll be eating my tunafish sandwich on wheat bread with an apple and some cheese slices for lunch. 340 calories, as planned.
Please help