Another pound down!

I felt such a sigh of relief when I got on the scale this morning and saw that I went down one more pound. The depressing thing about it is that I still look the same. I don't feel like I've lost any weight. As I'm sitting here, I feel like a huge, lazy blob. I'm reading this book called Wasted. It's a memoir on anorexia and bulimia. It really does amaze me how much her and I have in common. And I learn more about my Eating Disorder and the roots of it through her book. They say that Eating Disorders are hereditary, but as far as I know, no one in my family ever suffered from it. But that's the thing about an ED, people hide it so well that those that surround them have no idea that they are suffering from it. Suffering, another off choice for a word. Am I really "suffering" from my ED? Some days I feel good about it. Like every time I purge, I cleanse myself. I feel healthier and better about myself. Other days, I am living in my own personal hell. I am constantly worried that someone is going to catch me doing it, and when they do, how they are going to handle it. My mom caught me once a few months back. She made me feel like I was weak. People who don't have an ED, don't understand why those who do have such a hard time with it. Here is one of my favorite quotes from this book so far. "It stopped being a moonlighting gig, something I just happened to feel like doing when things in my head were particularly crazy, or when I was angry or lonely or sad or flat. It began to have a force and took on a life of it's own. From this point on, there are no memories that are not related to food or my body, or barfing. It became a centripetal force that sucked me in, something I knew and needed. Badly. All the time. I did not put a bite of food in my mouth without considering if, when, and where I would throw up. I did not ever look in a mirror without thinking, FAT." This is just a small insight to what I deal with everyday. Everything in my world has become a mirror. Walking down the street, I catch myself looking in the reflection of a shop window, or on the side of a freshly cleaned car. Doing the dishes at night, I catch myself in the reflection of my kitchen window. I spend more than enough time staring at myself in the mirror in my bathroom, or the full length mirror that's in my bedroom. Picking at this, pulling at that. Putting one shirt on, tearing it back off because it makes me look huge. I hate buying clothes. It's depressing. With taxes coming back, I need to buy some new jeans and I absolutely dread going to the store and trying on jeans or shirts. I hate that the only color I look good in for shirts is black. How cliche is that? All I know is that I wish I was not consumed with this constant worry about how fat my face is, or whether or not I gain a pound tomorrow. It's tiresome most days. One day, I want to see myself as God sees me or how my friends see me. I want to be happy with myself.