“You’re making enough food for an army!” she says as I make my broccoli and beef (200kcal sauce & all, if I happened to eat the whole portion- which I had no intention of doing).
I scooped out less than I was planning on while “enough for an army” chanted in my head.
I took a tiny bite. It was good. Another tiny bite. Chase with water.
I stopped chewing. The food didn’t taste good anymore. It didn’t matter that I’d only ingested a handful of calories out of the maybe 100 that I had in my bowl, I suddenly felt like I couldn’t take another bite.
I shoved it around for a few minutes to keep her happy. She couldn’t see in the bowl to see the amount stayed the same.
I got up and grabbed a container to save the leftovers from the pot and, with my back to her, I also scooped the contents of my barely touched bowl into the container.
I left it on the counter to cool a bit before I covered it. Just sitting there, on the kitchen counter. Right in front of her, while she cooked for them.
And I kind of hoped she would notice how much was left over-
-how little I’d eaten. I kind of wanted her to know that I’d dumped my food back. Not because I want to get caught- no, I’m not ready to recover- but because only weeks ago, they were telling me that if I kept losing weight, I was going to wind up in the hospital. I was too skinny, I was losing weight too fast, I needed to eat more.
So I did. Around them at least. I even picked up purging again which I hate hate hate, because at least they see me eating.
And I was eating dinner because I should, its a meal that most people partake in, its what she expects.
And I’ve been eating too much.
So I want her to notice that I didn’t eat and I want her to know its because of her. Not always, my disease isn’t on her. But tonight. Tonight I will stare at an intake of 477kcal on my calorie tracking app, though 200 of it is aloted for the dinner that I ate maybe 30cal of. I will leave it there with “enough for an army” firmly reassuring me that I just need to burn off that much more.
“Enough for an army” is more fuel to add to my eating disorder.
