Last night – or, rather, at 3am today – I ate half a packet of walnut pieces. And some dark chocolate. That’s a lot of calories, Omega-3s or no. I hadn’t had dinner but I wasn’t hungry, I was just up late writing job apps and the packet happened to be next to my bed. (After I got up and fetched it from the kitchen.) So much for digging deep and feeling my feelings. Trying to go without my main coping mechanism is difficult as hell.

Obviously I was over-tired and hungover. I know what happens when I feel like that. I walked right into overeating.

I just ate some low-cal minestrone soup that I made. It was vegetarian and bland. Am I skinny yet?

I’d like to leave this post on that vicious, pithy note, but I have more to say.

Every day, I deal with the panic that arises from living in this newly chubby body. Every day, I become annoyed while dressing for work, because I have only one skirt that fits me. OK, I’m exaggerating. Three skirts. One pair of trousers. I have mountains of size 10 clothes cluttering up my room, of course, but do they fit me any more? Yeah, nah. I feel as if I am on a runaway train to Fat Town, never to return to Slenderfigureville again.

My therapist, who I may or may not continue to see because I am skint, would say, in the nicest possible way, stop catastrophising. I am not gaining crazy amounts of weight. I am not on a downhill slide to obesity. Nothing is a foregone conclusion. I am nourishing my body as best as possible, trying to care for myself, and recovering, gradually, from a deeply entrenched eating disorder.

She would be right, of course. So I should probably chill out. I am trying. I really am.

I know I shouldn’t care. I know that societal pressure and body-image ideals oppress women. I know I am blessed, and I am grateful for my health, even if my psychological junk is hard to deal with. I believe all that stuff but I want to be able to believe it and just be skinny again. Body acceptance is fine and good for other people but my weight gain just makes me rage. I am railing at the perceived injustice of this weight gain… I am screeching because I am horrified that I pushed away my old figure – what was naturally, effortlessly mine.

I don’t know what to do. I get so sick of this shit. I wish I didn’t have to eat.


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