Tag Archives: coffee


I was standing in line at the DMV and the lady next to me was renewing her license. She was asked to look over her information.

“It’s correct except I don’t weigh 50kgs anymore.”

My ears started flapping, but I prevented myself from turning to stare at her. No one wants to be gawked at like a freak on a Tuesday afternoon.

“Ok how much do you weigh now?”

“I think, maybe 60kgs?”

She doesn’t look self conscious. She doesn’t giggle shyly or hang her head ashamed. No one can say for sure, but to an onlooker it seems like she gained 10kgs and that is just fine. Normal. Unremarkable. Not noteworthy.

I have never put my correct weight on my driver’s license. I always lowball – within REASON.

At ballet school we were taught to subtract 10lbs from our actual weight when asked for an audition. As a rule of thumb I have continued to do this because it seems REASONABLE. Reasonable to lie about my weight because no number is ever really acceptable.

Today I went to get a cup of coffee in the mall and a shop employee was hob nobbing with the barista. No one can say for sure, but she looked like she was afflicted with the rex. I had admired her skeletal like arms as she handed me my coffee with trembling hands and a smile that lit up her pale, hollowed out face.

The shop employee was showing the barista his lunch. She looked at it like a maniac. Like she was fascinated and revolted at the same time.

“I’m not going to eat all of it now,” he informed her and her co-coffee worker. “I guess I’m telling you so that you don’t laugh at my fat ass.”

The other barista comments on how she likes to tell herself she will save food for later and then eats it all in one sitting instead. I’m stirring my coffee slowly, deliberately eavesdropping.

The rexy barista hasn’t moved. She is in the same spot still transfixed by this lunch that has wandered in to high jack her shift.

He gets his coffee from skinny and skinnier behind the espresso machine and looks at his lunch with unbridled delight.

“I’m only 15lbs away from my goal weight anyway.”

I pick up my coffee and stroll out into the banal abyss of mall. I take my extra 15 pounds of “baby” weight with me. My extra 15 pounds of sleepless nights, more calories for breastfeeding, anxiety, bad day with the babies, hormonal, postpartum, non exercising excuses, sneaky glasses of wine and a few too many chocolate binges of baby weight.

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Post Purge Hangover

Bulimia hangover.

I wake up feeling like I have been run over. I look awful: eyes puffy with dark circles, fat face, dull skin. My stomach is empty, burning full of bile and nothing else. My throat feels like I swallowed glass. I am exhausted, dehydrated, migrainey. I am empty.

I hate the morning after a purge. I love the feeling that stays with me long after the hangover. The numbness and calm; the anxiety ebbing away.

Everything is beautiful this morning: my boyfriend and the children (even at 6am), our life together…all the chaos that upsets me doesn’t seem to matter. The lack of control is negated because I have found control elsewhere. I stroll into the day calorie free, armed only with coffee and I know I can do this. I can starve even though my anxiety will spike in a couple of hours. I can curb it later with wine and if I have to eat, I can purge that too. All is right in my world, if not well. All is as it should be: familiar and comforting, soothing to my tormented soul. My demons are placated.

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Feed Me


Why do people feed me?

The man I am seeing has picked me up every day for work because I cannot drive. He keeps bringing me breakfast (and coffee). I know it is the sweetest thing he can do for me, but it causes me so much distress. I love to feed people and take care of them. I just don’t want them to do it to me.

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A friend gave me a video from ballet class a year ago. One year and 15lbs ago…I thought I was fat then even though everyone told me a I looked sick.

It is obvious I am much thinner than I am now. I look hollow, concave in the middle but not thin enough. I can seek sunken cheeks and collar bones but it is not enough. I knew this even then. I see my pants hanging off my hip bones but I know that I can be thinner still. I can see I am pale and there are a few places in the video when I catch glimpses of myself shaking from a lack of nutrition. I remember how dizzy I was that day. I am surprised I made it through class but I can see my stash of coffee, electrolyte powder and water in the corner of the studio by my ballet shoes.

What disturbs me most about the video is how uncomfortable I am in my own skin. I have always been aware of it but the video shows how constant it is. My focus is distracted by my reflection. I can see my eyes always darting sideways to see what I look like. I know I am not looking to correct my technique or placement or lines. I am looking at how fat I am. This class goes on for two hours. I tug incessantly at my many layers of clothes: leg warmers, tights, leotard, plastic pants, cut out t-shirt, sweat shirt, extra socks, scarf…I am trying to drown the body I do not want to accept as mine.

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The End Of Productivity

The End Of Productivity

I was going to be productive today on my day off. I had planned to go to gym: 30 minutes of HIIT and one hour of iron reps which I do every Monday. Instead I slept in, woke up and put baileys in my coffee. End of productivity.

I was out of town for work yesterday and I feel that it derailed my healthy eating and exercise which I am getting frustrated with. For four days I have had the urge to starve. On Saturday I consumed 537 calories. It felt better to me than 1200 which I have been reaching everyday. It felt like I was back to “normal”.

Not only have I had the urge to starve, but I have NOT had the urge to binge. This for me, is always the beginning of the next bout of starvation and weight loss and I am ready to welcome it with open arms. It has been too long.

“Have you lost weight?” I nodded at the colleague who never fails to notice my ever fluctuating body. “Just don’t go too far this time, ok?”

I walked away laughing. Too far? That’s my favourite place to be.

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