Yesterday, I had my first physio appointment for my ankle and foot, which went well (achilles tendonitis confirmed) until I decided to weigh myself on the machine near the front door of the hospital. I have no idea what inspired me because I knew I would never be happy with the results. However, I didn’t think I could possibly have let my weight creep up to over fourteen stones. I can’t ask myself how it happened, because I know; late-night binges, endless comforting takeaways and being almost bedbound for months on end has led to this point. I have nobody to blame but myself, and although I haven’t allowed myself to cry over it, I want to. I really want to.
A while ago, somebody made a comment on Nicole’s blog (which linked back to a post I’d made about purging) saying that they didn’t think I was in any way recovered from eating disorders because I still wanted to lose weight. I tried not to, but I took it personally; who wouldn’t want to lose weight if they were classified as clinically obese? It’s not good for my health, it’s not good for my emotions, and it’s certainly not good for my past history of both anorexia and bulimia. I think in a strange way it’s assumed that once you’re over anorexia, you’ll always be a healthy weight. It’s just not true.
It really didn’t help when I came home after meeting a friend in the pub and my mother told me that yes, I was bigger than I used to be. She felt the need to point out that my arms and thighs were “big and solid”. She tried to deflect it by saying it was the steroids, but really… why does she say these things? How can she ever think that mentioning my weight in a negative way could help me?
I decided last night that now is the point where I have to take control, or I’ll be in the skinny/fat/binge/purge/starve/diet cycle forever. That’s no way to live. I’m going to set up a healthy eating plan; 1,500 calories a day. No more, and certainly not less. I don’t want to make a mess of it this time. I don’t want to fuck myself up yet again.
I decided to make pasta for lunch today, with mushroom and tomato sauce. I took the packet out of the cupboard and straight away my mother sighed and glared at the saucepans on top of the oven, as though I was ruining her day by wanting to cook. I put the pack back in the cupboard, made a cup of coffee and came back upstairs. On the way up, she shouted, “what are you going to eat today?” as if it’s any of her business. My mind told me to retort with “nothing”.
I just wish she’d go one day without questioning me about food. Just one day.
- Risking everything to be thin (rakarchives.wordpress.com)
- Drawing Yourself (posttraumaticdressdisorder.wordpress.com)
- Why I hate hospital. A cautionary tale of Bulimia and it’s costs. (faithandmeow.wordpress.com)
- Anorexia (backwards222.wordpress.com)
- So You Think You Want An Eating Disorder? (faithandmeow.wordpress.com)