An excerpt from a text conversation this week, between me and maybe the only person who I'm really able to tell all the nitty gritty of this journey to, without fear of judgement or invoking shock and undue worry to...
Them - How are you doing?
Me - I'm ok. Ted's a bit stronger today but I think that's just with it being the weekend. Also I feel hungry so that's making him put up a fight I think.
Them - I thought he was...what do you do when you feel hungry? Does he tell you that you don't need to eat?
Me - I feel tense mostly, because he's telling me to fight the feeling. Not nice.
Them - Remember, deep down...you are actually stronger than Ted. If you're feeling hungry then you must actually be STARVING. You must be because your body is used to surviving on hardly anything...so tell ted that I say fuck right off and let Katie eat.
Me - I'll tell him but I don't feel stronger than him most of the time. I win the odd battle which I know is better than nothing but he still wins more often than not. The rational side of my brain is saying that I should just eat something to make me not hungry but then Ted says 'don't be greedy, you didn't do that yesterday and if you do it today, you'll feel like shit all weekend. So it's a bit lose lose.
Them - In what way would you feel shit if you did eat?
Me - I'd feel anxious and low, like I'd failed.
Them - Failed who? Failed at what?
Me - I don't even know, just know I'd feel like shit and a failure. It's fucked up I know.
This is probably the best and easiest way of describing how mine and Ted's daily dialogue goes. And the clearest way of describing how my relationship with food is at the moment.
So, back to the here and now...I've identified a pattern I think. I start each week at the moment feeling quite strong, not able to drown out Ted all together but sometimes, for a good couple of hours at least, able to resist his nasty words and his shoving me away from the fridge or cupboard. I'm able on these days to retaliate by adding a little something extra to my food intake, something I know provides the fuel I need and sometimes even, this something extra consists of a food that doesn't fall under the 'safe foods' banner.
By Thursday, Ted's really pissed at me for thinking I'm bigger than him, shouting louder than the days before and so making me have to work twice as hard to have that something extra. Sometimes he does have more fight than me on these days and sometimes not, but either way I feel a bit crappy and anxious.
Then by Saturday, I'm back to the safety of my little nest at home and seeing more glimpses of 'normal' Katie again than I ever dreamed possible a few months ago. There's a feeling of being liberated for a while, I can go hours without Ted being there and it's literally the most calm and free I feel all week.
Saturday nights have become the day when I will try and cook something completely outside of the 'regime'...last week was butternut squash lasagne and this week, a beef ragu which is currently bubbling away. This IS progress, particularly as I have not then spent the following day/s hating myself for being so wild as to eat something different. Nor have I felt compelled to counter these meals with restricting thereafter.
The plan now, I suppose, being that if I can manage to do this more and more, then just maybe in time there will be no good and bad foods, just food. I literally dream of getting back to that time when I could have a normal response to a hunger pang or craving, with my brain and stomach being in tune enough with one another to have a conversation a little bit like this....
Stomach - 'I'm hungry'
Brain - 'No problem, that's normal, you're human after all and humans need fuel. What would you like to eat?'
Stomach - 'I quite fancy a bit of pasta and then maybe some cake for afters'
Brain - 'Mmmm that sounds pretty good to me, let's get cooking then.'
I'm currently able, on a Saturday night, to push Ted away enough to have a version of this conversation and eat something I crave (craving foods in itself is a mini-victory compared with a few months ago, my brain was so engrossed in my illness that there were just no cravings for anything - a weird feeling for someone once such a foodie). And, little by little, I want these conversations to take place every day, every meal time, and again, be afforded that luxury of just eating when I'm hungry without the internal dialogue between Ted and I that's become my norm.
....................
A day later...
Well, I managed the beef ragu and pasta last night and then I managed some of the Christmas cake that I've weirdly, always allowed in small portions as one of my safe-ish foods. And then Ted said to me 'well, you've fucked it now, go to town on that jar of sweets in the cupboard'. So I, being the obliging / stupid person I am, agreed to Ted's idiotic dialogue and it got me into all sorts of trouble last night...
My dietician has told me that one of the (countless) ironies of eating disorder recovery is in the fact that while I need to of course up my food intake, I shouldn't (even if I could!) go back to a normal diet immediately. Essentially, resuming normal eating too quickly could send my system into all kinds of shock and this is when you hear the horrible stories of heart failure and so on. I'm not trying to be dramatic here but there's also no point shying away from the facts, and today I feel more aware than ever of these facts.
Because, post-sweet jar binge, I sat in bed to read but within half an hour was experiencing the worst heart palpitations yet along with a tingly left arm (don't google this like I did!) and for the next 3 or 4 hours felt terrified, with my dietician's words ringing in my ears.
Like I say, I don't want to shock or worry but there's no point me talking about the victories and the 'didn't I do well?' bits if I don't also talk about the dark moments. Last night was dark, but today I woke up and was thankful. Thankful that I'd woken up and thankful that I've been forced to realise what this illness and the negative voice that I allow to control me is doing to my poor, depleted body.
I need to fight harder.
I sat in bed last night and just couldn't fathom how I'd got to that point. I'm 29, with a good life for the taking, and I cannot let this illness take that from me.
So, today I have to commit to doing as the dietician says and this means every day, having one of the protein shakes she's prescribed me, on top of my standard daily calories.
I am going to do this.
I am going to do this.
I am going to do this.
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