Well, it’s 8 at night my time, and Ed has just started to creep back next to me, so I decided this would be a good time to write.
I thought I was having a good day earlier. By good, I mean that I was sticking to my meal plan, had a late lunch, and therefore, had the opportunity to kind of miss the snack before dinner (Ok, good to Ed-not good to recovery).
Well, dinner came and it passed-and then I had this sweet tooth attack.
And I mean, major sweet tooth attack.
It felt like the feelings of a binge. I haven’t felt these feelings in a long time, and it was scary to re-feel them.
It’s the feeling where your mind and body are craving something so intensely that your hands are reaching for things and your mouth is eating it, but your not even enjoying it. It’s not even tasteful. It’s just an act of impulse.
I let myself have the chocolate, cookie and few other things I was craving, and then I went upstairs to tell my grandma that I felt I was having this sweet tooth attack.
Right away, the urge to binge went away.
Something about saying it out loud and making it a known fact, as opposed to a deep dark secretive feeling I had to keep to myself, made me feel a sense of control again.
So now I feel satisfied with my sweets. A little full, but nothing comparable to a binge or what a binge would feel like.
However, Ed is here now.
As you all know, last week, I decided to not see my nutritionist anymore for many reasons.
Up until today, I have enjoyed not getting a on a scale and I’ve enjoyed not writing all my food down in a food journal.
But right now, with Ed right next to me, I am missing those things.
Maybe if I would look at the long extensive list of sweets that I ate today, it would stop me from doing it again?
How will I know if I really messed up with my food these past two weeks if I don’t stand on a scale and wait for my nutritionist to tell me if I lost or gained weight? (no number of course).
With Ed, the one thing that always kept me sane when he tried to create chaos in my mind, was facts.
If he told me I ate too much food, I immediately weighed myself, so I could know if he was right or not, depending on what I weighed in that minute.
If Ed said I needed to lose weight, I could count calories-solid numbers, no guessing. Pure facts.
Facts are what kept Ed alive for me.
The number on the scale, the amount of calories I ate, the size of my clothes-these facts used to make me feel like I had a sense of control over the repetitive thoughts about food that Ed would plant in my mind.
I don’t have these facts right now and I am longing for them.
But it’s a lose lose situation.
If I have these facts, Ed continues to live on, and I continue to be his victim.
If I don’t have these facts, I sit here in blur and fog and I think about how much I’ve gained or how much I’ve eaten.
No one likes to sit in fog or in blur.
I can’t see in fog.
I can’t be me in fog.
I’m back in the unknown.
That’s really what this fog is.
It’s the unknown.
I haven’t been in the unknown for a while. Last time I was in the unknown was when I first gave up my scale.
I forgot just how much Ed loves to remind me that in a world of unknown, he is the only thing I know.
But that’s not true anymore.
Ed is not the only thing I know, even in this space I am right now filled with unknown fears and doubts.
I might not know what I used to know about my weight, but I do know that I am worth my recovery, even if it means trying to become friends with the unknown; getting to understand it, getting to accept it, and hopefully trusting it.
I’d rather be in the unknown of recovery, than in the known world of Ed…a world of entrapment, sadness and loneliness.
Hello again unknown…and hello life.