Today I had an appointment to meet with my psychologist. I told her everything. She made me tell her. My dad forced me to. But my psychologist made me tell my own story. It was hard. It felt like failure.
I know it isn’t. It ain’t failure. It’s a succes. But that’s not how it felt like.
I haven’t got what I wanted. Not yet. I haven’t got a diagnose. She told me to take it very seriously. She is going to discuss with the upper-psychologist (?) about what to do with this. What to do with my story. What to do with my behavior. What to do with my thoughts.
She will call me tomorrow. Or on Friday. That’s 4 days from now. That really is a long time for me. The days are long. I’m tired all day, every day. So days are like, always too long for me.
It might take 4 days for her to call me. I don’t know what she will tell me over the phone. Maybe I’ll have to get a treatment somewhere else. She told me today there are external healthcare which can provide the best care for me.
But do I want the care? Yes and no. It’s a struggle. A conflict. A dilemma.
I know I should get some help for this behavior of mine. But I feel like I’m not ready yet. Will I ever? Don’t think so.
But I don’t think I’m already at the point where I am already the stereotypical “girl with an eating-disorder”. You can’t see my bones. I’m still eating. As less as I could, but still; I’m eating.
I’m counting my calories. Today was a good day for me. I hadn’t eaten all of my lunch. I was proud. I ám proud. I had gone to school today, and still hadn’t eaten all my lunch.
Today I woke up, and I felt like I should weigh my lunch again. I left a few more pounds at home. I thought it would’ve been too much. Because of the calories. Carrots got a lot of calories, you know… I didn’t know before.
Tonight, when I got home after the appointment with my psychologist, the 1.5 hour drive and dinner with my parents, I weighed the “left-overs” of my lunch. I weighed it again because I would know what my real calorie-intake of the lunch was. My dad was horrified. I asked me what I was doing. I didn’t hide my action. They already know I’m struggling. Why not just be honest in the one place I can be and feel like myself?
So, I went to school. Crying in the morning because I felt awful. It’s the depression. In the train, I ate my breakfast. 225 ml skinny yogurt. Weighed, of course. A guy kept looking at me while I ate. I hated him for it. Like he hadn’t ever seen somebody eaten their breakfast in the train.
In school, a friend told me I looked like a walking ghost. Gee, thanks. I felt like it, tho. So, I wasn’t hurt by it. Another classmate told me it appeared like I was just there physically; not mentally. Like I was living on a cloud. Far away from reality.
I am. I am living far from reality. My reality is food. My obsession with food. My control over my food. Not over my body yet, because I still maintain the same weight for three days now: 45,5 kg. My Body Mass Index is 45,5 / (1,64 * 1,64) = 16,9.
So, I cut in my lunch. What did I eat for lunch today?
- 300 g carrots
- 400 g cherrytomatoes
- 115 g cucumber
- 40 g red pepper
- 60 g orange pepper
I know it’s bad for a 18 year old girl who needs a lot more energy to just get through the day. But it’s my addiction. I don’t feel like I’m ready to give up yet.
It’s like I’m being an alcoholic. I need more (less) to get the good feeling of not feeling those extreme emotions anymore. I love feeling less. I love escaping from the real world. I love escaping from reality.
I love obsessing over food. But it makes me tired, too. I just want to enjoy food. I was never like this. I lóved food. I still, I think. I love good food. I just don’t like the calories the food contains.
Today was my best day so far in this battle. My calorie-intake today was 329.
I got a few days left to lose some more weight. I don’t know what will be next. I don’t know what my psychologist will tell me on the phone in 4 days.