moments

Moments: Lacking the Voice of Reason

Before I begin this Moments “vlog”, you should know that it may be quite triggering for those with an eating disorder. So, I’m saying this now:

TRIGGER WARNING: Eating disorder habits and depression mentioned. And of lesser importance, swearing.

Don’t say that I didn’t warn you…

———-

I made a mistake yesterday.

I ate at, or before, 1pm yesterday. Actually, it was most definitely before as I had been able to eat four bagels in two hours. And it wasn’t until I had eaten the last of the ten millionaire bites (caramel covered, chocolate topped, biscuit base bite size chunks) on the third hour at 1pm that I had realised how many calories I had consumed. I had consumed a lot and it began to freak me out.

Now, although I did not know exactly how many calories, I had somehow been able to stop myself from peering at the calorie content on the package of the bagels and recording the number.

I’m not sure if I should consider that an accomplishment, for it was not a noble act but a cowardly one. I was not only afraid to see the calorie content but also the nutritional one. Knowing quite well that I had consumed little, to no food of nutritional value that day had made me even more anxious than I already was. I didn’t need the confirmation printed into the back of mind with the specifics.

I wasn’t sure what to do, but I knew that I was frightened.

Usually, I would have exercised quite thoroughly for the next two hours – three hours if I could help it. All the while checking my weight on the scales periodically but… I was stopped. I was stopped by the nagging voice of my therapist erupting gently into my mind.

“Be kind to yourself” the voice whispered, while another voice, a little stronger and far more violent grabbed me by the consciousness and screamed in my mind’s ear “you fucking fat shit!” And so ensued an argument between the two. Imagine that, two voices battling it out in my head, one fading under the intensity of the other. And if you can imagine that, you will understand why I started to laugh. Hysterically. So much so that I began to feel tear after tear crawl down my cheeks while my laughs were interrupted by slight hiccups from the force of it all.

Quite honestly, I wasn’t sure what to do.

And I wish I could end this by saying I did the right thing, that I called up my friends and talked to them. That I continued my day as normal and ate something healthier when I was hungry in the next few hours. That I actually took a minute to reflect on how I was feeling and calmed down. I wish I could, but I can’t. I instead did the only thing I knew to do in situations like this. I took to my bed and folded myself into a tight ball underneath the cover of my sheets.

Oh, and think to myself in the dim silence:

At least I didn’t exercise.

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