A very strange day

I cried. Over. A potato.
What the fuck? What the actual fuck?
I regained an ounce of my sanity today. I can't believe I'm smiling after eating without purging. A shaky smile but a smile nonetheless.
So, my appointment was basically just a long questionnaire type assessment of my current state/habits and a plan to reintroduce regular times and 'safe foods' to eat. One of the questions in the list related to my level of anxiety towards being weighed and thank fuck... she didn't weigh me today :)
She said I definitely don't look anywhere near eleven stone though which was nice.
We negotiated foods and she gave me a diary I have to write in (what I ate, how I felt, if I purged). The only food I can usually keep down is green salad and tuna/egg. She said I have to add a slice of bread at lunch (!) which really made me tense. Tense? That was weird. It seems so ridiculous of me to be tense over a 90 calorie, carb and refined flour loaded piece of bread. But I felt like tearing my nails into my palm. It got worse. A small potato with tea. I cried. I need to be fucking sectioned. I fucking cried :/. The idea of consuming and keeping those carbs inside me was like POW. I felt disordered at that. It hit me hard in the stomach and made my eyes water; I couldn't pretend it was a diet gone wrong or a fitness kick any more. When you're crying over the idea of eating one small potato each day, you need professional help.
We also discussed dress size and why it matters. I don't know why it matters so much to me. The idea that I'll be happy when I'm thin is, in essence, ludicrous and as a smart girl I just wanted to beat myself over the head for being such a cunt. Oh, I'm a six and now I am ecstatically happy and all my problems have melted away? Illogical much? Fuck. Still, it will be around forever; magazines, tv, books, friends, life in general is full of how thin or fat women are. Success is made out to be a measure of size (inversely).
She also said something that hit me quite hard. The idea of eating a piece of bread and keeping it down means not feeling guilty (impossible). Yet, when I binge on carbs like cookies, pasta, crisps etc I am consuming more calories from those carbs that I can't get up anyway than I would have on the piece of bread that could have helped prevent it. The mind set is completely demented.
What will hereafter be referred to as "The Potato Tears" were somewhat of a wake up call. I really have lost all sense of reality and control. So I decided to pretend for a day that I am a normal person with normal habits. I am in control. I am I am I am I am I am I am. This almost justified the lack of a purge. I was also able to almost justify the slight binge with the fact that I am supposed to start my food diary tomorrow morning. Although if I lie, I'm only lying to myself so I still feel horribly guilty and know I'm full of bullshit.
So I ate a hamburger, a chicken burger, a cauliflower cheese grill and two chocolate biscuits with cups of tea. And I wasn't sick. Eep. Scary feelings surfacing right now. Ignoring the voice in my head is proving difficult. But still no vomit. I win, bulimia. I win. Today at least, I am in control.