Raspberries

I want to extend a huge thank you to everyone who helped me with my homework assignment last week. My therapist was SUPER happy. She wants me to take all the messages I received and put them into a little book or stick them on the wall of the bathroom (the place where I have to confront my body at its worst). That might be a little extreme because it’s uncomfortable on principle, but I did take screen shots, so I have them if I need a reminder that I’m not a huge disappointment to everyone around me for not being the “right” size.

There was a rough couple of days in the middle of last week. I’m not even that hungry anymore most of the time. I ordered a pizza for Ben last Wednesday and I just stared at it. By 9pm on Thursday, I had 3oz of chicken and I got a little sick from it. Ben had gone to the gym and came home with a few groceries to get us to the weekend…

Raspberries. That boy plays DIRTY. He knew I was upset with myself for eating too many raspberries last weekend, but ALSO how much I enjoyed them. I playfully scolded him about it, gauging what I should do, because I’ve lost all autonomy when it comes to food.

“You brat! I’m not supposed to have those and I’m gonna wanna eat them all!”

“Good.” He shoved them in my hands and walked away.

It made me laugh, and then cry. I want to marry this man someday. Of course, the raspberries were amazing. I ran into the kitchen-I had me an idea. I had made an keto almond cheesecake mousse a few days ago, so I added some fresh raspberries into it and made a nice evening treat for us. The pure joy of making my new creation was toxicating…

Guys, I just like food, ok? I like to make it, I like to give it, and yes… I like to eat it. *gasp*

Something felt like it switched in my brain after that. I ate whatever I wanted this weekend with scattered results. I feel bad for the poor woman who had to listen to me puking in the Perkins bathroom, but this is my life right now. And as far as how much I ate, I don’t know if I’d really consider it a binge, per se, but it definitely fell into a “grazing” category. Panicked, of course, I grabbed the fucking scale… it went up.

Well, that can’t happen. 

Here is the sticking point. If I stop restricting, allow myself to eat and fully embrace the concepts my therapist wants me to… I will have failed in my weight loss goal, I will not achieve a body size that is acceptable, and worse, I’m probably going to gain some back.

• I know that people around me will be disappointed.
• I know that I will be seen as weak, letting myself go.
• I know that I will have failed, after everything I’ve been through.
• I know that if I’m not actively pursuing weight loss, I am judged.

Am I safe stop to this? Because I sure as hell don’t feel safe. I’ve never felt safe to be exactly what I am. That’s why I’ve worked to hard for over 30 years to change it… and I still can’t seem to do it. And now it’s become this sick game to see how far I can push my body, to prove to the world I can stop eating all together, let myself waste away… because I’m only valuable if I’m a success story.

And then what’s worse is the rejection of the help I’m trying to receive even by my therapist. NOW I feel like I’m being tricked to stay fat by a bunch of thin privileged dieticians in order to keep me in my place. It’s to make sure I stay the DUFF (designated ugly fat friend) so I will never be able to be seen as a person with value. “You’re beautiful just the way you are!” But silently judged and patronized.

I’m paralyzed by fear and I don’t know who or what to believe anymore. I feel like everyone is lying to me about EVERYTHING.

So, I’ll just sob into my mug of tea.

It’s 4pm, and I’ve had 40 calories. Fuck.