Sooooo. I don’t even know where to begin. Been a rough few days. Wednesday just gone was the worst day yet. Hopefully that’s the worst day all done now.
I don’t really want to go over it but that’s what this blog is all about. I want people to know how hard this is.
Better go back to Tuesday. Saw the new dietician. Who gave us a structured meal plan on the spot. She listened to me about what I can and can’t/won’t eat. That was good. She was yet another health professional who vetoed exercise. That was not so good. And on paper, the plan didn’t look too bad.
Come breakfast Wednesday, first day of the rest of my life. I measured the required amount of muesli into my bowl. And immediately put 1/3 of it back in the box. It was a crazy amount of food. Seriously. I didn’t even bother to measure the yoghurt.
The day went downhill from there. Do you want to know how long I can shout and argue about cheese? I’m not normally a loud person but I managed a good half an hour of irrationality. Again I thought it was too much (it was literally 15 grams of cheese). I was actually putting my shoes on to run out of the house and just keep running. We can laugh about cheesegate now, but at the time it was anything but funny. And it was only the second meal of the day. Not even 11am.
I managed lunch like a sulky kid. Go me.
It was afternoon tea that tipped me over the edge. ¼ cup of trail mix and ½ cup of yoghurt. TOO MUCH AGAIN. I had some of it but was overwhelmed by Gloria. I had to get out, escape from the food, be the one in control. I got down to the front door, where Tony caught and held me so I couldn’t move. He just whispered in my ear ‘please don’t do this to them, please don’t do this to us’. I was able to be rational enough to climb the stairs. I was able to fight enough to eat what Tony had served to me. ALL of it. Then, I don’t really know what was going through my mind, guilt over having the kids witness all this, extreme anxiety over the amount of food I was suddenly expected to eat and was being forced into me, and suddenly I was wanting to really hurt myself. I thought it would be better to die than to eat and fail. I thought it would be better if I was gone from my family so they wouldn’t have to see me do this anymore. Tony found me curled in a ball under the quilt on our bed. I remember showing him my arms and saying ‘I know exactly where to cut’. Something that stopped me was thinking about how big and hard a mess Tony and the kids would have to clean up if I managed to do it in the bedroom. I would have to go to the bathroom. But Tony was holding me. And he just held me until I was calm.
I felt so unsafe. But I think it did shift something inside me to see how Gloria keeps me anything but safe. If that could be an answer to a tiny thing like eating, what would a bigger problem prompt? I already know the answer to that: starve myself, restrict to the point of self-harm, slow suicide.
Spoiler: I’m not feeling like that now, and I haven’t since. Tony and I talked. I promised I would try again tomorrow. And now in the morning before the day begins, while we are still in bed, I pray for strength for the coming day and Tony asks me to pledge that I will follow the meal plan, I will not restrict, purge or exercise and I will not say it is too much.
So yesterday, I earned six gold stars. Six! That’s the best ever! I have not had a day of eating so much since, I think, just after Christmas last year. I still have to fight the anxiety. I still panic about the amount of food I have to eat. And I am really freaking out over not being able to exercise. But I am now half way to my 50 star goal.
And a little closer to the day when:
Gloria is not me.