The b.s. and the lies

I have lots of problems, we all know that. But one thing I have really been struggling with throughout my recovery has been guilt. That is, guilt about what I know I should eat, and what I actually eat. Guilt about telling my dietitian that the project she assigned me last week just didn’t happen. Guilt about not being able to hold up to her expectations. It used to be worse. I’d eat a meal with my husband, and I felt like I had let him down because I didn’t eat enough. Though I felt anxious that I would be called out on it, I didn’t do anything to remedy the fact that I was consuming less than I knew I should. I think right now I need a bracelet saying “W.W. C. S.” (What would C. say), to remind me that my dietitian knows what’s up. She has me on the right track. What she says, goes. It’s not always ed…or maybe it is.

Sometimes it’s just so easy to be lazy and go with the routine foods I used to eat. Sometimes I’ve had a big dinner and don’t want to have a fun food (Or ed doesn’t want me to…). I’m finding it easier to differentiate between me and ed…but I still fond myself listening to him sometimes, even when I know it’s him. “You just had a burger and fries, you don’t need a slice of Reeses pie” “If you don’t have that yogurt, you could have pizza for dinner”. Do you hear a voice like this too? Do you chalk it up to your conscience? For me, it’s not. It’s ed.

Sometimes I get so overwhelmed thinking of all the years I restricted, and all of the foods out there. I know I can have anything in moderation, but it can still be so overwhelming. For a while, when my anxiety was really bad, I couldn’t even go to the grocery store or look at the ad for our local supermarket without being filled with an inexplicable dread. At this time I wasn’t eating much, so I rarely had to go shopping…but the idea still gnawed at me. I think one of the tactics ed likes to use to get to me is telling me that if things aren’t just so, I will lose control. And when I lose control, all hell will break loose. And when all hell breaks loose, I will eat and eat and eat. I will become bulimic and fall down yet another rabbit hole. I remember talking about this fear with my mom. But control…and ed, won’t let me eat to that extent. The fear it still there though. It’s irrational, but so is anorexia.

My dietitian is so great. I may be afraid of disappointing her, but I am slowly realizing that my choices are laying out before me, and if I make the right ones, I feel better. I then have nothing to hide. If I decide to go against her advice and listen to ed, I know I have done wrong. She won’t be disappointed in me, but I am only hurting myself when I don’t make an effort to move forward. I have an appointment tomorrow with my dietitian. I know she is going to ask me how things went these past few weeks. I feel like they went great, but I know I didn’t do my best.  It’s hard to add in dip or sandwich spread at lunch. I swear it is. Or maybe ed is just saying it is. Just like he told me milk was a sin. Oh ed. I’m going to miss your antics just a bit. They’re so hysterical, and yet so cunning. I like to think I’m kind of smart…but ed makes me wonder…


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