I haven't been posting much lately, I know. I've been spending a good deal of time out with D. But its not just that.
I haven't weighed myself in about 2 weeks now. I am terrified of getting on the scale. In my heart, I know I haven't been eating enough. Still well above what I would consider to be restriction - but I know that the fear foods, the fear of gaining while cutting down on my smoking and the lazy days spent watching movies - have probably caused me to not really eat what I should be eating. I know I probably over estimate at times.
The other day I looked in the mirror. I don't see weight loss per se. But I could swear certain parts of my body used to have a bit more "padding" than they do now. I'm not sure if I was just not seeing myself properly before, or if what I am seeing is real. Its so hard to know. I'm giving myself two solid days of eating at home, and then I am going to get on the scale and see what, if any, damage has been done.
This is not to say no progress has been made. Quite the opposite honestly. Yesterday, me and D made breakfast at his house. I ate french toast made with white bread, whole milk, butter and powdered sugar. I ate scrambled eggs. I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich without the use of a measuring spoon. I ate dinner at Olive Garden and I finished my plate (OK I took my appetizer home in a box. But I figured it was more important for me to eat all of my meal as opposed to filling myself up on a 100-calorie soup.) I ate bits and bites of food that I couldn't account for and drank about a quarter of a rum n coke (because D apparently cannot handle Bacardi 151 like your girl here can) all things I didn't even count towards what I need to eat in a day. I don't know if I can express how huge it is for me to eat or drink a little bit of something and not look at it as more calories consumed. I admit - by the end of the night and D was trying to get me to eat some of his dish - ED started acting up because I had been eating bits and bites all day and I just couldn't do it anymore. I ended up needing to have a long with the boy and explaining things to him - why I suddenly seemed anxious and all that. He still doesn't understand. But I at least got him to see that this was all good for me - that I need to feel anxious and afraid at times or else I will never get better.
I have come to so many new revelations. Like it doesn't matter if the food I eat is the 100% perfect and healthy meal every time. Its okay to eat white bread and butter some times. It won't kill me, and it won't kill anyone else either. In fact, its quite enjoyable (especially when your sitting on the front steps eating breakfast with a cute boy) and that its OKAY to let yourself enjoy the indulgence once in a while. Its good to not eat just what seems safe and perfectly healthy - you've got to branch out into the foreign territory if you ever want this illness to end. And you know what I figured out too? Its OK if I lost a bit of weight. Because I know in my heart that I have the ability and mindset now that I can increase my calories if I need to, that I can gain when I need to and that I do not need to be afraid. Because like everything else - mistakes and steps backwards can be fixed. As long as you learn from what you've done, that's all that matters.
I am making peace with myself - shortcomings, mistakes, and all. Nothing is ever going to perfect, and I am OK with that. As long as I never give up - I can let go.
I feel happier already, just writing that down with permanency.
Why Can I Only Love the Broken?
1 month ago