I'm sorry about being MIA for a while here. I've been crazy busy with moving stuff and family/friend things. And if I'm being honest I've been struggling a bit with eating stuff and I'm embarrassed to admit it. Not just on here, but to my boyfriend or my mom.
I've been skimping on my lunches, which is really bad and so ridiculous because I know better. I never did add back in that afternoon snack and since I've hated breakfast forever (I do always have some fruit), lunch needs to be enough to get me through the work day. I've been feeling terrible on my commutes home and I know why. Weekends are better since it's much less structured and somehow that gives me permission to eat when I want and pick things with a lot more freedom. And I've been working on some of the food obsessions (like using big forks!) but that doesn't really matter if I'm not actually eating enough. I just keep thinking, "Well, I'm going to have a big dinner and dessert when I get home. Why should I eat now?" The problem is that even if I'm making the calories up it's not necessarily in healthy foods and that every time I let myself get so hungry I feel frantic I'm feeding the ED thoughts and behaviors.
I know eating more will feel bad in the short term and I'm terrified I'll gain weight if I eat more at work. But by not doing it I'm letting down everyone who cares about me.
I had a timely conversation with my mom this weekend though. We don't talk much about the past ED stuff. I know it's hard for her to think about the worst of it. But somehow it came up and my mom asked if I still felt like she ruined my life by stepping in and making me get treatment. I just kind of looked at her and asked if I said that. As I explained to her, my memories of those worst couple years are sketchy at best. Malnutrition will do that I guess. She said it was probably a good thing and that she wished she didn't remember it either.
Then she asked if I remembered her telling me I was going to die. She says we were sitting in the office at their house and I was poking at my hands like they were fat. I'm sure I was. I was pretty proud of my bony fingers. And she says she felt like the worst mother in the world because she told me I was going to die and I started to cry. I don't remember that either but I'm sure I needed to hear it then and I needed to hear it again now.
This is not how I want to live my life, having friends and family worried about my health and not remembering the good times. In fact, I refuse to live this way. I don't know what I'm going to do but something has to change here.
