Here in America, today was Thanksgiving. It’s a lovely holiday, the least commercialized and thus somewhat relaxing, unless you happen to have an eating disorder. I really rather enjoy Thanksgiving. However, I struggle to eat, especially in front of others, including my family. I have a particularly small family, so hiding in a crowd has always been impossible. I also have many foods I choose not to eat. My family made exceptions and prepared several dishes I could eat. I struggled to make myself. I ate incredibly slowly, despite only having 2 dishes on my plate. I took very small portions. I sliced everything into bite-size pieces. I drank a great deal of water. I set my fork down after every couple bites. I tried to keep conversation going to slow myself down further. I had not tasted a single thing all day; I had not eaten since the night before, actually. I declined everything offered to me, save the cup of coffee. And while clearing the table, my mother asked me if I was getting enough to eat (she’s asked before). I said yes. She clarified “even when you aren’t here?” Again, I lied and assured her I was, in fact, eating.
The day began with much tension. My mother immediately hated my new septum piercing. I had foolishly thought she would find it cute or, at the very least, somehow empowering, maybe. I didn’t expect her to be quite so unhappy. Perhaps it was not wise to simply show up; she doesn’t handle change in a rational way. That’s a point against me. My father, surprisingly, told me it was my nose. The tension grew as the meal preparation was finishing up. It was necessary to deliver dinner to my Aunt and Uncle, (That’s a long story). This does, however, create a good deal of tension between my parents. Usually resulting in my mother becoming despondent. After a couple of errands, she asked me how much weight I had actually lost. I told her the truth, within a couple of pounds since it’s been up and down lately. She said she thought I had already lost that much, meaning I should have lost more since the last time I told her. In hindsight, I believe she thought I was lying, trying to hide how much I had actually lost. I was also informed that several other piercing and tattoos should not occur, all for various reasons. Naturally, my rebellious nature informed me that I would, indeed, be doing exactly those things. Some days I don’t understand my brain. But that’s a post for another day.
It took some work, but I managed to diffuse the situation. Overall, the day was not as bad as I expected. It had a rocky beginning and a rough middle, but that ending was pleasant. I came home with leftovers. Some of which I ate already, mostly because no one was around to watch. And also because I can feel my body shutting down from malnutrition. Which is the primary reason for me fighting the need to vomit right now, the need to feel empty. Which is what this is, truly. I am obsessed with being empty. I only feel good enough when I can say, to myself or to someone else, that it has been X days since I last ate. In my mind, that means I am stronger than most others, I can run my body on nothing. I came to this conclusion after realizing that I wish to be able to say “I’ve had no calories today,” and, also that I must get stupid high to make myself consume even the zero-calorie foods.
In other news, I am still struggling to urinate. I know, it’s a gross topic. I force and force and sometimes I can and other times I can’t. When I get high, I seem to relax enough to make it happen. It also seems that when I’m high, my hands shake. I can only assume this is the shaking associated with starving ones self. I don’t know if my muscles go lax when I’m high, but this shaking occurs mostly during this time.