Frappe freak-out

The title suggests I’m making light. I suppose I am. It’s a ridiculous and self-contradictory set of characteristics that this illness bestows on you and thus, it deserves to have the piss taken out of it.

Yesterday, I was at work and talked Ted into allowing me a Skinny Frappe Latte. This is unchartered territory, at least over the last year or so, and I thought I’d sufficiently reasoned with Ted to make it possible for me to drink this summery lushness in a cup without it causing too much bother. Ted assured me he was cool with it, it was skinny after all. He lied. I had a few anxious sips, got no more than half way through it, and had to throw the rest in the bin if I was to have any hope of shutting out the voice telling me ‘WHAT THE SHITTING HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? THIS ISN’T IN THE PLAN. YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO RUN FOR AT LEAST ANOTHER 15 MINUTES TODAY TO COUNTER THIS LITTLE COCK-UP!’

I didn’t run for an extra 15 minutes, so I suppose it’s 1-0 to me in that sense. But this torturous dialogue did run through my head all afternoon, pushing my food anxieties and the accompanying queasy feeling that takes residence just below my ribcage to the fore after a good few days of being able to function almost normally, without a good chunk of each minute revolving around food and Ted.

I HAVE to, at these moments, push push push to focus on how far I’ve come and consciously choose not to fixate on the feeling that this is just one never-ending hamster’s wheel that I’m destined to be stuck on for eternity. So, tiredness and overall weariness at being on this journey, be gone – I have a mountain to carry on climbing don’t you know!