This tickled me pink….
This tickled me pink….
If this is true, then my fat cries a lot but evidently it is not upset enough to move out.
Gym is my latest obsession. I am worshiping at the alter of thin – again. In pursuit of (skinny) perfection, I track my calories as penance and confess their consumption to anyone who will listen, in the hopes that I will be absolved. I still pay for my sins. The only good thing is that I seem to be bingeing and purging less. But this is still ED in it’s many forms. I cannot deny the truth. It is gospel and I am a believer.
There is always hope.
Deprivation. Depravity. Some days I cannot tell the difference.
I am in a constant state of denial. Denying ED. Denying reality. Denying myself.
Denial is now a way of life. In the anorexic mindset, it governs all thinking. Today I cannot nap because I must work out. I will cut short time with friends to go to the gym. Gym, my new church where I can worship at the alter of thin. I am there on the treadmill with stress fractures or migraines. Whatever the physical limitations or agonies, they must be denied. I cannot talk on the phone because I need to purge instead. I cannot go out for drinks because I ate a box of laxatives.
Daily life is just deprivation and denial rolled into a calorie-free, fat-free, fun-free existence. Every morsel has been pre-planned, pre-approved. Celery is a staple because carrots had too many carbs. Bananas have been replaced by apples have been replaced by clementines. Rice cakes and non-fat cottage cheese are the baguette and brie that I dream of wolfing down with the glass of wine I cannot let myself have. I wake up salivating for vegan protein powder to quell the hunger pangs. Every stat is punched into a calorie/fitness tracker. Numbers that determine my worth. I am 467 calories under my allowance for the day. I go to bed hungry. Dinner has been denied. Again. I promise myself that tomorrow I can eat whatever I like as a reward. Tomorrow never comes.
When I am “enjoying” myself on a “day off”, the denial is so ingrained that I don’t even flinch. The waiter takes my order at lunch, “no mayo, substitute the fries for salad with the dressing on the side and no dried fruit or candied pecans, please. Oh and no bacon either. I’m a vegetarian”
My friends are so used to it that they don’t flinch either. “Sorry to be difficult,” I apologize for the freak that I am. “Candied pecans are just fat bombs,” I explain. They don’t care anymore.
I am amazed when people butter their toast, or put sugar in their full-fat latte. Any excess that can be trimmed has long since gone from my diet. Eggs are eaten as egg whites only, if required. Cookies in the staff room are passed over without an acknowledgement. Mayonnaise is devil food. Soda is a river of fat I will not wade in. Candy is from the childhood that I lost to anorexia.
After lunch comes Starbucks where I am the pro at denial. I could get a gold medal if removing the fun from a treat was an Olympic sport. When I am not drinking black coffee which I don’t even like, I crave a warm, milky, sweet drink.
I have created a calorie deficit on purpose so I could splurge if I allowed myself. The reaction is automatic.
“Can I take your order?” the cute, chirpy girl behind the counter smiles at me.
“A non-fat, unsweetened, green tea latte.”
I want a Venti. A Grande would be a compromise. “I’ll have a tall, please.”
“Would you like whip on that?” I must have grimaced uncontrollably at her.
“My bad, no whip on this drink! Would you like something to eat?”
Chirpy behind the counter has turned into one of the demons that haunts my dreams. “No thanks,” I snap and go browse something that won’t attach itself to my ass. I am mean when I am hungry.
“Have a chocolate,” my co-worker offers. I mentally punch him in the face. I didn’t squat and lunge my self-loathing away today just to ingest it in the form of an act of kindness.
“Let’s go for cake,” a girlfriend suggests. I mentally query if she is my friend or satan sitting on my shoulder.
I drink my green tea and exhale.
Deprivation. Some days I mistake it for control. Or perfection. Some days it gets lost in the depravity of bulimia instead. Today might just be that day.
There are things, odd things, that only make sense to us.
Here are some of my personal ones:
1. I know laxatives only cause water loss. I eat a few boxes of extra strength ex-lax after a B/P just to be sure.
2. If I cannot eat an entire cake, box of cookies, giant bag of chips or an entire vat of ice cream, then I cannot be bothered. I won’t eat a slice of cake and keep it down. This makes no sense as eating an entire cake and purging it probably leaves behind more calories. Ditto for all the pots of pasta I consume. Why eat one plate when I can eat seven?
3. Mac and Cheese loves me.
4. If I can only love myself when I thin, then that must go for other people too.
5. If I don’t go to the gym I am a bad person.
6. If I am happy, I will binge. If I am sad, I will binge. If I am in love, I will starve.
7. Weight gain is a sign of failure of epic proportions. My ass is also of epic proportions.
8. Eating in public is wrong.
9. Cheese is always there for me.
10. I eat, therefore I am a fat ballerina.
Feel free to share your ED logic with me!
I just downed a bucket of pasta and am off to barf it up. I am sick enough to find humour in my eating disorder.
**Apologies to those who find this offensive. I believe it is better to laugh than to cry.
I rewarded myself for going back to recovery with a binge. This is known as ED logic.