Category Archives: fat


It’s all just a numbers game.

What do I weigh? What are my measurements? How many calories did I eat? How many calories did I burn? How many hours did I sleep? How many hours did I spend in various recovery groups this week? How many times a day do I struggle with my eating disorder?

I’m not going to sit here and list the numbers for you. But the above questions are numbers I think about often.

I am terrified of the scale. I know a lot of people with eating disorders weigh themselves obsessively, hell, I used to be one of them, but I am so scared of the number the scale will show that I can’t bring myself to step on it.

You might think this is a good thing but in actuality it means I spend a ridiculous amount of time wondering what I weigh. I will think I know, and beat myself up for how fat I am. I will convince myself I have gained ten pounds in the past week and that I am so huge I shouldn’t be seen in public and none of my clothes will fit or look good, and if I hadn’t skipped that one gym session, or hadn’t eaten that one meal, then I wouldn’t be as fat as I am now. And then the thoughts get mean.

There are weight restrictions for one of my jobs though so no matter what, once a month I have to stand on a scale.

Today I had to not only stand on a scale but take full body measurements – not for work, for something else. I then have to repeat the process on the last day of March to show improvement. Which of course means I am freaking out because what if I don’t show improvement? What if instead of getting in to a bit better shape I just get fatter? Oh my god please don’t let me get fatter, I won’t be able to handle it.

So now I know my weight aaaaaand all my body measurements and my head has been spinning with those numbers all day.

See, when I step on the scale the result goes one of two ways:

(1) the number is higher than what I can stand seeing and I immediately start restricting even more and working out even harder to fix it

(2) the number is lower than I was expecting, I am happy (even though I want it even lower), and I become terrified of screwing up and having the number go up, so I start restricting even more and working out even harder to make sure I don’t screw up the loss

Not really great responses huh?

Today I stood on the scale with the full knowledge of what the scale said in January, sure that it was up ten pounds from that number because dammit I know my body and I know I have gotten fatter. *stomps foot*

The number was ten pounds lower than my weight in January. Ten pounds lower. But I was 100% sure I was up. So how could I be down? The scale must be broken, obviously! So I reset it and tried again. Still ten pounds down.

So, yay?

I mean yay, I am happy I lost weight, obviously, but um, I was so sure I’d gone up, it was like I didn’t know what to do with this information.

Now, before anyone worries, I am not someone who is underweight, or even near to being underweight, so losing ten pounds isn’t a dangerous thing for me. Trust me, I still have a lot of cushion on this body, unfortunately.

Then I took my measurements. They don’t have as big of an effect on me as I was never much of a measurement focused person. I am curious to see how they change in a month though, but not in a “they must get to a certain number” type of way, just a general curiosity.

Weird how I can be so affected by the scale number but not so much by the measuring tape numbers huh?

Seeing that I was down, after I started to believe it, had me immediately thinking of what foods to cut out, and how much to cut out, and how much I can increase my exercise, to not screw this up. I am convinced it is some weird fluke and won’t last unless I am super careful.

But…that reaction goes against what I am learning in recovery, sigh. Also, I had my team practice tonight and in my one-on-ones we talked about how I need to properly fuel my body for when I work out and when I have my sports practices because if I don’t fuel my body I can’t perform to my best ability and I increase my chances of getting hurt. So I try to make sure I eat an hour and a half or so before any work out or activity that I take part in. It sucks, and is hard, but I try…I don’t always succeed, in case you were wondering lol

Today I had no excuse to not eat before practice, but I was thinking I could eat just that small meal before practice and nothing else, cause that would be ok, right? Ok, wrong, I know wrong, but it still feels right.

Brace yourself, are you sitting down? Because not only did I eat around 1:30 pm, I also ate at 5:30 pm (my pre practice meal), aaaaand when I got home after practice I ate something around 11 pm. That is three times in one day eating food! And ok, granted, not all food groups were included at each meal, and the word meal might be an ambitious use of the word since each time the food quantity was kinda low, but the fact that I ate three times should count for something, right? Maybe…I dunno…maybe I am stretching here, sigh.

For someone who hates math my head sure has a lot of numbers in it lol

I don’t really know where I was going with this post, except that I have nobody I can share the news that I lost ten pounds with, and nobody to share the news that I ate three times in one day with, and I just wanted to say it somewhere, out loud, even if it is actually being typed not spoken.



An Odd Stressor

At one of my jobs I get fed when on shift. They make amazing food there, better than anything I could ever make, and depending on what they are making will depend on if I eat at work.

Over the years (cause yes, I’ve been there yeeeeears) the chef’s have gotten used to my quirks, sorta. I get teased by some of them about not eating certain things, or lectured by others about needing more fat in my diet, but even the ones that tease me respect my food choices…they can’t really argue with them when I’ve dropped weight and everyone thinks I’m oh so healthy *rolls eyes* At work I eat lean protein and vegetables. Exciting huh?

It is usually fish, or chicken, or turkey, or eggs, for the protein. The veggies vary widely. I don’t eat starchy vegetables, (ex. corn or peas) but I eat a bunch of the other veggies. I steer clear of carbs in any obvious form…I say obvious because all veggies have carbs in them but I’ll eat say, asparagus, but not potatoes or rice or other higher carb food items. Does that make sense?…I mean, in the way weird food rules can make sense? lol

There is one food I don’t eat, and haven’t eaten in more years than I can remember, that is not on my no-go list because of my eating disorder but because of broader reasons.

I don’t eat pork, in any form. It started because I don’t care for the taste or texture of most pork products and from there it expanded to not wanting to eat pigs because they are ridiculously intelligent, freakin adorable, and ethically I don’t feel right about it.

All the chefs at work know I don’t eat pork. One of them teases me by saying pork is in everything (from the egg salad mix, to the vegetables, to the fruit salad), it is a long running joke at this point.

Last week I worked an extra shift and the chef working asked if I would eat the meatloaf for dinner. I didn’t want to, it looked too greasy, I felt I had less control over it (as if I somehow control the salmon they feed me on other days? *rolls eyes*) and I dunno, it rang all kinds of alert bells in my head as a “no” food. Sooooo, trying to get out of it I asked what was in it. He said it was fine, and gave me a tiny piece to taste. I tasted it, it wasn’t horrible, I figured I had plans to work out after work so maybe I could do this, and I said fine I’d eat the meatloaf.

I wasn’t happy about it but I was trying to think of it as testing my comfort level.

Then someone else at work mentioned they weren’t eating the meatloaf because it was a combo of three meats and they didn’t like the sound of that.

Three meats? What three meats? I was led to believe it was beef…

I asked the head Chef what meat was used in the meatloaf and he said beef, veal, and pork.

I ate pork.

I want to cry.

Even thinking about it days and days later makes me feel nauseous and teary and disgusted.

I went back to the chef who gave me the piece to try and snapped at him, turns out he assumed it was beef, didn’t actually check, the jackass.

Now, I think a more normal person would be pissed, but get over it, and the next day be fine with getting their meal at work, especially when it is fish and there is no chance of a mistake being made and they would be fed pork again.

But who says my brain does normal? I was stressing out about my meal at work all day (I worked the evening shift so I was getting fed dinner). What was going to be on the menu? Could I trust any food coming from the kitchen? Did I want to eat from that kitchen ever again? Maybe I should just not eat.

Somehow my brain went from one chef making an assumption and accidentally giving me something with pork in it to I can’t trust any of the food that comes from that kitchen no matter which chef makes it so I should no longer eat at work.

Some days I want to smack my own head against a wall.

Just because I am irritated with my own thought process on this one doesn’t mean eating at work has become any easier since this incident. I can manage to eat vegetables, for the most part, but much more slowly than before and it takes a lot of convincing to get me to eat them…by that I mean me convincing myself, I don’t have some cheerleader that follows me around cheering me at my meals lol I’m poking and picking at my veggies more than I am eating them and using the excuse that they have gone cold and don’t taste good anymore as a reason to not finish them and just throw em out. Don’t even get me started on the protein side of things. Since the pork incident I’ve been given salmon, chicken, hard boiled eggs, and turkey…of those I was able to eat without issue the hard boiled egg, everything else I pick at, take nibbles of, and then swear it feels like a lead ball in my stomach.

I don’t want to eat the food.

I seamlessly went from not sure I can trust the food, to nope I can’t trust the food, to the food makes me feel unwell in my tummy (further reinforcing why I shouldn’t bother with eating), to guess I’m not gonna eat at work anymore.

Which correct me if I’m wrong but just might be me going in the wrong direction recovery wise.

I don’t know how to fix it. And to be honest, I don’t know how driven I feel to fix it. Part of me feels like not eating at work is a good thing because really, I don’t have any control over that food, I don’t cook it, or prep it, there are probably all kinds of hidden calories in that food, it is probably better for me if I don’t eat at work. And no, I won’t take food to work cause, well, that’s a whole other blog post of crazy, but in my world that isn’t an option, so I am essentially backing myself in to a corner of self-imposed food restriction for 4-5 days per week, 8 hours each of those days. Which isn’t soooo bad, I’ve done worse, but I’m trying to do better, except I appear to be a bit ambivalent about it.

Oh my god, see why I irritate myself?

I have my one-on-one session this Wednesday, let’s see if I can irritate my counsellor just as much as I am irritating myself. Arg!

I Can’t Even…

Every Friday, without fail, I go to the gym. I don’t think it is an ED thing so much as it is a time slot that fits well with my schedule and it became a habit to go then. That and I enjoy it.

With my one-on-one counselling we decided to change my workout plan a bit because after some delving in to shit in my head we discovered that while my weight workouts are enjoyable and don’t seem to feed my ED the cardio part of my workout does feed my ED. So as a challenge I shortened my cardio.

It sucked. I hated it. I felt like I was cheating on my workout. But I did it. I didn’t die or get instantly fatter and well, maybe it was a thing I could do again.

Thing is, the past 2 Fridays I go to the gym, I work out, then the next day or two I am sick. I mean, I am sick already, I’ve been battling a bug (or possibly two) for a couple weeks now and it seems that every time I work out after work it flattens me for a couple days. I work weekends and can’t afford to keep missing work because I am kicking my immune system in it’s ass with my workouts. I was toying with not working out tonight after work, in an attempt to be self-caring and all that crap, ya know, baby the body in the hopes it finally gets healthy again…well, as healthy as it can get considering how I eat I suppose. 😉

I was leaning on the side of still working out, because I didn’t want to miss my Friday evening workout – the gym is nice and quiet, it’s the best workout of the week!

And then shit went down.

There is a swinging door at work with the tiniest window and massive blind spots on either side. I was just about to push the door open, so my left foot was up mid-step, when another staff member pushed the door from the other side, really really hard. It smashed in to my foot, pushed my toes back really far, and as a bonus spilled the just made cup of tea I was holding so I burned my forearm.

Just. Fucking. Great.

Do you know how much paperwork is involved when a staff member gets injured? I do because I’m usually the person handing it over to the other staff members when they get hurt and threatening them with me in their face at every moment of their next shift if they don’t fill it in asap and get it back to me.

I’m not worried about the burn, I sometimes self-harm (real winner of mental health over here!) and my chosen method is burning, so I know how to handle that just fine.

My foot though is another story. The more I walked on it at work the more it hurt. Even when I sat and rested it, it hurt. By the time I got home my limp was pretty impressive. I had a shower, propped my foot up, and have been babying it all night. It still hurts though, which sucks balls.

The bigger problem for me though is…I didn’t go to the gym.

Now, ok, part of me, a teeny tiny I think rational part of me, is saying it is fine I didn’t go. In fact it is probably good I didn’t go because I would have definitely made the foot worse.

The larger part of me is saying I am a failure for not going. If I was really dedicated, if I really wanted to get to my goal, if I really cared about my fitness levels, if I really wasn’t a loser, or lazy, or pathetic, I would have pushed through and gone to the gym. Now I might as well give up. I will be a lame ass next week and find a reason to not go then too I bet, because that is what I am, a lazy, disgusting, fat, weak, loser who was just waiting for an excuse to not work out that they can then use for weeks and weeks until it was like they never went to the gym. This is the beginning of the end. May as well give up now.

I couldn’t get my brain to shut up. It was circling with these thoughts, I couldn’t make them go away, I couldn’t fight them, all I did was believe in them. Whole heartedly, 100%, believe them.

So I ate.

I ate my feelings away. I squashed them down under ice cream and cookies. I ate and I ate and I ate and for a little while my brain was quiet. All the insults, all the stressing, all the fear, it all went away. Then after a brief, too brief, quiet moment in my head, it was all replaced by guilt over what I ate, shame over letting myself go, horror at how much I ate, disgust at how much of a pig I am, hatred over my actions, realization that I am not dedicated, I am not strong, I am not a fit or on the way to being a fit person.

I am nothing.

I am a slob of a person who literally ate their feelings in to submission, only to be swamped by new, worse, feelings. Feelings that I earned, that I deserved, because our actions show what we truly want. Our words can say anything, our actions are what we should pay attention to. And my actions showed who I really am.  All the horrible things I am.

I say I don’t want to be those things, but if I truly didn’t want to be them I would have sat with the first batch of uncomfie feelings rather than indulge myself, eat all that food, and now have to deal with the consequences.

I am glad I got injured tonight, I deserve the pain. I deserve every pound of weight I gain. I deserve every stomach ache I get. I deserve every single drop of guilt I feel. I did this to myself, I deserve punishment.

And trust me, tomorrow, it will be meted out.

Not Helping

I wrote a bit ago about how I had been sick (well, when I wrote that post I was currently sick) and as a result lost 3 pounds in 3 days.

When I went back to work I had lost a total of four and a bit pounds and apparently it was noticeable. I don’t understand how, but people said they could tell, and asked if I was ok, and did all that concerned questioning nosy thing that people do. When I said I had been sick they switched to concerned but not as nosy, which is a bit better I guess.

This also seemed to open up the gateway for them to comment on my weight in general.

I’ve lost weight this past year. People love talking about that shit. I lie, and tell them I lost it in a healthy way. They have no reason to not believe me, so they nod and say I did a great job.

Then they proceed to tell me how I shouldn’t lose anymore weight because “you’re wasting away!” but in the next breath they say how great I look. Even when I came back to work after being sick people were saying how great I looked…right after telling me I looked sick *rolls eyes* People!

This is not helping me get back to a more “normal” way of eating.

When I was sick I was living off of chicken noodle soup, tea, and very small amounts of apple juice. When I’m sick my appetite, the sad little thing that it is, goes right out the window, and it takes everything I can muster to remember to drink the tea, let alone eat the soup.

I knew I had lost weight. And because I always want to lose weight I was happy with this loss. My ribs were more prominent, I felt lighter, stronger, more capable, smarter, better. I feel a lot of great things when my weight goes down…which makes it reeeeally hard to be ok with staying at this weight or gaining. When I went back to work I had zero internal incentive to go back to eating anything other than my soup and tea.

My first day back at work I worked two jobs, then went to the gym, then went home and ate nothing post-workout, then woke up the next day so much sicker that I had to call in and miss two days of work. Apparently I went back to the gym a tad too soon. Oops! Since I spiraled back down in to the world of being sick I also spiraled back in to the justification that it is ok to eat only the chicken noodle soup and the tea. Oh how easy it is to think like that.

So now I’m basically over the cold, just some sinus stuff. It is the first day of my work week, I worked two jobs, went to the gym after work, and am about to head to bed and I am realizing I am having a very hard time with eating. Not just eating in general, which I always have, but eating foods I used to be ok with. I used to be ok with eating oatmeal. I didn’t eat it when sick cause it was too much for me. Now I can’t bring myself to eat it. Just the thought of it makes me cringe a bit. I don’t know why. I like oatmeal. I was totally fine with eating it before…hell, it was one of my few food staples, but now, well, I went without it all that time I was sick so obviously I don’t need it, so why eat it?

A lot of foods have turned in to dilemmas like this for me.

Eggs? Yup.

Bread? Yup.

Oatmeal we already discussed.

Fish? Yup.

Certain vegetables? sigh, yes, even those.

Now, that list may not seem long but it basically all the food I allowed myself to eat on any regular basis.

Right now my list of ok foods seems to consist of chicken noodle soup. Even I know that isn’t a good list! Though part of my brain thinks it is brilliant. *rolls eyes*

I don’t know how to integrate my old foods back in to my rotation, I didn’t really anticipate them leaving my rotation ya know?

My screwed up brain, combined with all the compliments I am getting from people about how great I look is making it hard to see the logic of eating again. If I look so great after what turned out to basically be a soup diet, why not continue?

I know the people at my work don’t mean harm, they don’t know what I am struggling with, they don’t know that by telling me I look great and skinny and all that they are re-enforcing that not eating is a good choice and strengthening my fear that eating any other foods will result in my becoming immediately fatter.

I know it’s not their fault. I know it. I swear I know it! And I know I have to control how I respond to people’s comments and I have to control how I internalize what people are really saying. Someone saying I look good doesn’t translate to I should never eat again, not in other peoples brains anyways, and I have to break that connection in mine.

But c’mon, I got called skinny today. Me. The fat girl with a good 30 pounds left to lose. I don’t want to lose that compliment and right now my brain is saying I’ll lose it if I eat.

Messed up. My head is so messed up.

Does Recovery Equal Fat

My treatment plan is all group therapy based. I’ve never done inpatient, or residential, and I never will. I know, I know, never say never, but seriously guys, never.

So my experience with recovery, both mine and other peoples is quite limited.

Something I have noticed over the past year is the weight fluctuations of the people in my various group sessions. I find it troubling…

Hitting a bump in recovery and going down makes sense to me, especially if you are anorexic or have restricting tendencies. Even going up makes sense if you are a binge eater.

But someone who is supposedly doing really well with their recovery and the treatment team is pleased with their progress and they are now imparting their recovery wisdom on to the rest of us who has gotten fat, um yeah, I can’t get behind that.

Now granted, I may not be the best person to be judging if someone is “fat” but even I can tell when someone has had a significant weight gain…and if it is in the name of recovery, well, what the hell?

This guy from one of my groups went to residential treatment, or maybe it was inpatient first then residential…whichever it was, he was out of the group treatment for a while and doing a more intense treatment. I’ve read people’s blogs about inpatient treatment, generally you aren’t allowed to exercise, you have strict meal times, and strict meal plans.

This guy, I’m gonna call him J, he used to run a lot and ate once a day. I don’t know what he ate so I don’t know for sure how much or little he was consuming. He is in his mid-forties and had been doing this most of his life. When I met him in group he looked to be in great shape. Yes, I know, looks are deceiving, but I’m just trying to give you a picture here.

So in shape guy, goes to more intensive treatment, when that treatment is done J comes back to group, and J is fat. And I don’t mean a little bit extra but not really all that noticeable, I mean like, lots extra. Lots.

I feel so sad for him. That people he meets now who never knew him before will only know him as this over weight mid-40s guy instead of the runner, the athlete, that he was.

Maybe he is healthier inside, physically and mentally, I dunno, I can’t speak to that.

And he’s not the only one! There is a girl in group who ballooned up. She got so big! Both these people are considered to be doing oh so well with recovery, we are supposed to be impressed with their progress, they are sharing nuggets of wisdom to help guide the rest of us, but all I can think is that they failed. They fell in to the trap. The trap that is recovery makes you fat.

There has got to be a way to recover without becoming over weight! There has to be *stomps foot* because I refuse, abso-fuckin-lutely refuse to go any further with recovery if it means becoming over weight.

I work hard to understand and believe that when my dietician asks me to add a new food to my list of foods I will eat, or to eat more than one meal a day, or to consider drinking a glass of milk, that she is thinking about nutrients, and fueling my body, and stuff like that. But I always think she is trying to sabotage me and make me fat. And I kind of, in a vague way, grasp that my thinking she is trying to sabotage me is probably my ed trying to scare me or trick me in to not changing. On my good days I kinda get that.

But…it doesn’t take away from my fear that she is trying to make me fat.

Now I have two people who have actually gotten fat from recovering and omg the panic I feel whenever I think of either of them. That panic can take me from contemplating having a snack to ordering myself to not eat anything else for the rest of the day because all food will make me fat and who knows which food will be the tipping point that takes me from what I look like now to looking like them.

Envision a big ass wall slamming down and blocking off all food, that is what it feels like in my brain. I panic, that wall slams down, and boom! No more appetite. No more willingness to try to eat. No more openness to the idea that my treatment team is right.

Just a big ass black wall that stops me from getting to any of the things that are on the recovery side of my brain…heck, not even an entire side, more like a little itty bitty section eeked out in a corner with one tiny fluorescent light that barely works swinging over a battered desk and some figure huddled under the desk trying desperately to get work done without being noticed and kicked yet again.

When that wall slams down it takes so freakin long to get it open even an inch, and it is exhausting to try. And part of me doesn’t want to try, because, well, if forcing it open, and working this whole recovery deal is going to end up with me fat well, no, just no, that is not an ok end result for me.

Does everybody who recovers from an ed get fat? Or is it just coincidence that I am seeing it happen right in front of my eyes to people I know? Are they the exception or the rule?

…I just realized that a lot of my posts lately have been very negative and “screw recovery-esque” which has me wondering why I am so defensive all of a sudden…yet one more thing to ponder…


Last work week (I work Fridays through Tuesdays) I got exposed to a plethora of germs because people at work decided that even though they were sick, like, super sick, they’d still come to work because “I never get sick, it isn’t that bad”…only to have to leave early because of just how sick they were.

I really, and I mean reeeally, hate when people come to work sick.

Keep your freakin germs to yourself people!


When I was leaving work Monday I was feeling it, the sore throat, the sniffles, the tiredness. Definite signs I was getting sick. I ran errands instead of going to the gym like I had planned and stocked up on DayQuil, kleenex, throat lozenges, the apple juice mentioned in a previous post, and Vitamin C drops.

A sick person’s survival kit!

I didn’t end up as sick as the others though and stupidly thought I’d managed to escape the horrible-wish-I-was-dead version of this illness. Now I think I might have just been incubating it and it is about ready to make itself fully known…just in time for my new work week. Fuck.

I spent Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday taking things easy. I mean, I still had things to do (a work shift Tuesday and two appointments Wednesday in regards to my eating disorder recovery) but other than those things I stayed at home, read books, cuddled with the cat, and tried to let my body rest.

Oh, and I took AirBorne, I swear by that stuff.

Wednesday I thought I was pretty much better and I’d be able to go to the gym Thursday, Thursday came though and omg I think I am getting worse. My voice is kinda going. My sinuses are doing worse (plugged and runny nose at the same time, super annoying!), I’m cold, can’t focus, basically a lot of the symptoms of, oh I don’t know, a sick person.

So tomorrow, because I can’t find someone to cover my shift I will be that person who goes to work sick, and spreads her germs. Ugh.

In regards to my eating disorder, getting sick like this does not help me at all. Well, unless you listen to my eating disorder, it is practically doing hand stands because of how little I am able to eat when sick.

Even when not sick I suck at following a meal plan but I try to eat twice a day…which depending on where you are in recovery sounds like not enough or way too much. To me it still sounds like too much, but I try really hard to manage it. It took a while to build up to that much food in one day and I don’t really like it, shrug.

When sick any thought of following a meal plan basically goes right out the window. My appetite disappears, nothing tastes right, I have even less interest in food. Most of my brain thinks these are all great things but the part of me that is learning shit in recovery knows that these aren’t great things.

My ed brain says:

Eating broth and drinking tea is a totally acceptable thing to do. One bowl of broth is definitely a days worth of calories.

My recovery side says:

Not enough food dumb ass.

My ed brain says:

You’re sick, you don’t have to eat when you’re sick. Don’t worry about it.

My recovery side says:

The less you eat the harder it is for your body to get better. You need nutrients to get better. Eat something!

My ed brain says:

If you’re going to eat something then you’re going to ruin all the benefits of being sick. Think of how quickly you’re losing weight right now. Think of how easy it is because you don’t have an appetite because you’re sick. Why throw that away? Be strong! Don’t eat! You don’t need food! But if you do eat then you might as well binge because you’re a failure, a loser who can’t manage the simple task of not eating. You don’t deserve to be skinny. You don’t deserve to get to your goal. If you’re going to eat then eat something ridiculous, something high calorie, something that will make you feel bloated, and overly full, and gross, because you deserve to feel all those things if you eat, because you failed.

My recovery side says:

It says nothing. Because it is barely a whisper in my mind on my best days and it can’t stand up to my ed brain when it is on a roll.

So here I am, sick. I did manage a meal the other day that had all 4 food groups in it. A small meal. Probably it is classified as more of a snack, but to me it is a meal. And a win.

Today…not so much.

Today I ate soup, though I had two bowls instead of one, which I guess counts for something. And I had some bread, because I am weak and I like bread…but is it weak that I like bread and choose to eat it or is it ok to eat something I like, in moderation…I question this but I know what I feel the answer is, it is weak, and I am weak for eating the bread. Just because I like it doesn’t mean I should eat it. I like a lot of things I don’t eat anymore. Bread is useless calories, unnecessary food, I should really get rid of it, sigh.

I weighed myself today and am down 3 pounds in three days. Which the majority of me is thrilled about, but also terrified I will screw up and as a result of the terror my brain has been screaming at me all day to not eat ever again or those three pounds will pile back on with a whole bunch more. But ya know what, I ate the soup anyways, so fuck you voice!

Oh god, I don’t mean it, I do mean it, I don’t know what I mean. I’m so confused.

I don’t want to be a lost cause to my recovery team. I don’t want to be one of those people who they feel is beyond their help and is let go so someone more deserving can be given help. I think I am one of those people though, and they’ll figure it out soon, and I’ll be left alone to deal with what is in my head, and I will fold to the ed and stop fighting even the small amount I am fighting, and I’ll be screwed.

You know, this post was going to be about how I lost three pounds in three days and isn’t that so great? But apparently I have other shit on my mind right now…who knew something could be bigger in my head then a lower number on the scale? This cold must be really messing with my brain. *rolls eyes*

Body Image

I hate being asked what I think about my body image. Like seriously, what doctor thinks that is an okay thing to ask a person? I never know how to answer.

Uh…well, I know I am fat, so I guess that is how I think about my body image?

I have sucky body image.

I don’t want to talk about it.

Those are my instinctive responses but none of them seem to be the right answer. sigh.

In case you hadn’t guessed, I was asked that recently. It makes me stumble every time I am asked, makes me screw up the rest of the conversation, makes me want to punch a wall and look down at my feet at the same time. That question makes me so incredibly uncomfortable.

It also got me thinking about body image. Which is a pisser.

I know I am fat. I see myself in the mirror every damn day don’t I? And not just in clothes, clothes that I choose specifically to try to hide my many flaws, but naked, or in just a towel, or just underwear, when none of the flaws can be hidden. I see it all. I know where all the problem spots are. I see where all my failures are etched on my body. I see where the evidence of my laziness and being prone to over indulgence show.

I see how fat I am. Daily.

I don’t want to have to put that in to words for some doctor.

I fly to a different province for Christmas, a province that has less tax than I do, combining the smaller amount of tax with Christmas and Boxing Week sales, and birthday discounts, I tend to buy clothes when I am there because it will save me money. I needed to replace all my work clothes because none of them were fitting properly, they were all too big. I figured they all got stretched in the wash, and were a bit old, so no big deal. Well imagine my surprise when I am trying clothes on and am going down 2 to 3 sizes before I find things that fit, and those items fit loose. I prefer my clothes loose but I think if I preferred form fitting clothes I could probably have gone down another size. Crazy!

I know I have to take in to account vanity sizing and all that, but…it appears I have shrunk, and it isn’t that my clothes got stretched out.


Now, I am not at all unhappy that I have gotten smaller, in fact I am thrilled. I am also confused at how this happened and I didn’t notice.

I look at myself every day. I see my flaws, my fat, every day. How did I not notice some of it went away? I mean yeah ok, I had noticed my ribs were more prominent and my hip bones, but my stomach and thighs are still just as fat, my ass still just as big, my face still just as round.

Before that shopping trip I would have said I 100% know what I look like and I 100% know I look the same, am the same, as this time last year. I have not changed in size, no matter how badly I want to.

Apparently that statement would have been wrong.

And I’m struggling because if I didn’t see that I was losing weight, then what if I start gaining weight and I don’t notice? What if I start getting even fatter and I don’t see it, and nobody tells me, and I just get fatter and fatter until there is no coming back from it?

Also, if I don’t see myself as I truly am, if I did get smaller and not see it, but was so sure I knew exactly what I looked like, well, what if there are other things I don’t see clearly? What if there are other aspects of myself, my eating disorder, my attempt at recovery, that I think I 100% see as they are, but, I don’t? And if I don’t see other things clearly, and other people don’t tell me what is the truth, or they tell me but I don’t believe them, how will I ever see things as they truly are?

How can I trust anything I think, or feel, or see, when it comes to me and how I look and my health and my eating disorder, if I somehow went down 3 sizes in clothes and can’t see that change?

How will I know what is real, what I can believe?

It reminds me of when you are driving in the fog. The area right around you doesn’t seem that foggy but farther down the road the fog looks thicker. You go farther down the road and realize it still doesn’t seem so thick around you but a bit farther down the road it looks thicker. Eventually you realize the fog around you is just as thick as the fog down the block, only you can’t see it because it is too close to you for you to perceive, because you are in it.

I am in the midst of my eating disorder, I vaguely knew about it before but chose to ignore the knowledge. Now, now I am aware, and see some things more clearly, but not all things, because I am too much mired in the eating disorder to see things beyond a certain point. Maybe one day I’ll be able to get clear of the fog, but for now, it is around me, blocking me from seeing the truth about who knows how many things, and even though I am aware of it now, it is fog, and I don’t know how to fight something I can’t touch.