On thin ice

From now on, I'll be posting the majority of this blog from my phone, so please excuse the atrocious spelling. :)
I've been extra emotional these past few weeks. I feel as though I am simply skating through life, never knowing when I might suddenly fall through the ice. The ice is especially brittle when I attend a party or event. The last thing I want is for this eating disorder to keep me from celebrating with my friends; but at the same time, I can't help feeling like an outcast when I'm amongst a large crowd.
Let's start with the weekend before last (Mother's day weekend).
With three parties in one weekend, a meltdown was bound to occur. Friday's party went smoothly with the help of one of my accountability partners. Julie and I planned what I should snack on, and when I should stop. I must admit, I was terrified when I saw the box of doughnut holes, packages of Oreo cookies, and the giant platter of cinnamon rolls. Filling my pockets and purse with all the yummy goodies was hard to resist. Julie provided healthy snacks as well, ones that wouldn't tempt me to purge. So I filled my plate with grapes and "Smart Pop" popcorn, and limited myself to one cinnamon roll (a treat I hadn't had since Christmas time). With my food worries gone, I was able to enjoy spending time with my friends.
My good behavior at the party went down the toilet (literally) when I spent that night at my grandma's house. She had taken the time to remove all the sweets from her cupboards, but that didn't halt my desire to binge and purge. Around 3:00 am, I quietly cracked open the fridge and reached for the giant block of cheese. After emptying my stomach of about a pound of cheddar, I crawled back in bed, feeling miserable and sick. I continued to sneak more cheese and half a loaf of bread from the fridge throughout the next morning.
When the time came for the next party, my stomach was stuffed full; but I continued to eat despite the pain. Though I had eaten a sensible amount of food during the meal time, I longed to go back for seconds- heck, I wanted every last piece of bread on the buffet counter. I begged my mom to take me to get more food. "Ok, we can get more salad," she said.
As I walked into the kitchen, I pictured myself lifting one of the giant bowls of pasta salad and emptying all of its contents into my mouth. I saw myself moving from bowl to bowl, emotionally ravenous, but physically stuffed. This imaginary Rachelle dunked her head in the pot of beans and slurped up the remains; she gnawed on chicken, sucking the marrow from the bones; she licked the plates clean until very morsel and every crumb was consumed. This was what I would become if I continued to entertain those voices, those thoughts and desires, those lies of bulimia.
The desire to be alone with all that food was completely overwhelming. This desire burned in my chest and brought a flood of tears to my eyes.
"I have to get out of here," I whispered.
Luckily, my dad had a business appointment to go to, and he was happy to have me tag along. We had a thirty minute drive, which gave me plenty of time to calm down. I rarely talked with my dad when I was younger, and I am still hesitant to initiate a conversation; but our relationship has healed soooo much since I've been dealing with this disease. There is still so much I don't know about my dad, things I've never bothered to ask him about. During our drive, I asked him about how he became passionate about running. His story blew me away. I felt like he was telling me about a fictional character, one who had been on an epic journey. But Ken Hunter was no fantasy, he was my dad! My Dad had traveled all around the world, and I had never shown any interest.
Now that I've been talking with my dad, I see him in an entirely different light. For years, I had a distorted view of his character and what he thought of me. Now I see that the Lord has blessed me with a compassionate and caring father who loves me despite all my struggles and imperfections.
Mother's Day was a victory day. Focusing on blessing my mom and my grandma took the focus off myself for once, and thoughts of hoarding food hardly crossed my mind. I tried my best not to cause my mom any grief, and I'm pretty sure I succeeded.

As far as my food plan goes, I had been restricting my calories to counteract my binges. This of course starts the cycle of deprivation and hunger that leads to wanting to binge and overeat. I weighed in at Mary's, and saw that I had dropped a few pounds (I was actually surprised...after a whole block of cheese and a loaf of bread the previous weekend).
Mary stressed the importance of eating enough calories, though going over 18 weight watchers points sends me into a purging panic.
I recently bought a new food journal, and have been faithfully tracking my calories/points. I admit, it is super hard for me to eat 18 points without any guilt. But Mary and I agreed that I would stay above 18 points every day this week. My weigh-in is in two days, and honestly, I don't know what to expect.
I have overcome quite a few "insecurity hurdles" this week. My weight isn't my only obsession; I'm concerned about my entire appearance. So when I chopped my hair to pieces, my the whole world caved in around me. All I was going to do was give my bangs a little trim; this led to hours of snipping until I finally gave up. Sunday morning, I crumpled to the ground in defeat.
"My life is over," I wailed.
But I HAD to go to church, and I HAD to get packed up to stay with Rhonda. I pushed my emotions aside, and I did what I had to do. Singing on stage in choir was difficult, but I couldn't let my hair hold me back from worshiping the Lord. After singing songs of praise, my worries vanished.
I had another meltdown after lunch at Rhonda's house. My mom was getting ready to leave and I wanted to wimp out and go with her, though I had planned to stay a few days with Rhonda. My hair made me feel absolutely hideous, and I wanted to go home and hide. But I also knew that once I got home, all I would be able to do is lie in bed and wallow in my self-pity. Rhonda saw me huddled on the ground with a mixture of tears and mascara running down my face.
Rhonda has a "no-nonsense" way of adressing a situation, and for that I am very grateful. She knelt down beside be and said, "Rachelle, don't let your hair determine what you do!"
I decided to stay with Rhonda and Charlie after all. We went to see my cousins perform later that night. Though my hair was still a concern, I didn't want it to keep me from having a fun night out.
Well, I'm still enjoying my stay at Rhonda and Charlie's house. Again, I am so grateful for my aunt and uncle's hospitality.
I'll be returning home sometime tomorrow. I'll probably write post some more then.
I hope you enjoy reading about my journey.
I sure enjoy reflecting on the places the Lord takes me each week.