So, I chose the easy road to peace today. It went well until dinner. Then the brown stuff hit the spinny thing.
I can finally see just how weak and underhand I’ve become in order to maintain this illness. I’m sneaky, but can’t lie about it when I’m caught. So tonight when Tony discovered that I’d hidden half of my dinner under his nose, things kind of became tense. I had to admit I’m still exercising more than he thought. When Tony realised I chose ravioli for dinner so I could restrict under the guise of never having liked it, he was more than a little peeved. The kids were still at the table with us. Phoebe was trying to bribe me to eat, Tim was just watchful and silent. Friends who’ve eaten with our family know that Tim is not silent at dinner time – he has a captive audience and will capitalise at any given opportunity. Tony got through to me, told me to fight. For once I was able to pick up my fork and eat. And I was even able to fight enough to choose to eat more after that, given that I’d eaten almost nothing all day.
There are times when this illness is just cruel. The mental and even physical aversion to the very thing that is the only cure is beyond imagining. But the short term peace is bought at too high a price.
I don’t want to live like this anymore. I don’t like who and what I’ve become. I don’t want to see that look in my son’s eyes. I don’t want Tony to search my bag every time I come home looking for what I might have bought to use for purging. I don’t want to be chaperoned everywhere I go because I’ve proven myself unworthy of trust regarding food and exercise. I don’t want my daughter to learn any of these behaviours.
Time to get real. Again.
Gloria is not me.