It’s Just Food.

It’s just food.

I have heard that so many times. I wish that’s all it was. Before entering residential treatment a few months ago, encountering food was very stressful. (It still is at times- like I’ve said, I’m in recovery, not recovered.)

Here are the thoughts that ran through my mind when sitting down for a meal:

How many calories are in this?

I’ve already eaten today, so I can’t eat too much.

I’ve already eaten today, I don’t need to eat again.

I haven’t eaten today, so I can eat this.

Make sure my portion is small.

But make sure it’s not too small for people notice.

I’m really not hungry.

Today was a shitty day, I don’t need to eat.

Today was a good day, I don’t need to eat.

Why do I need to eat?

I’m going to get fat if I eat this.

I’m not hungry.

I’m not hungry.

I’m not hungry.

If I had a dollar for every time I thought or I said I’m not hungry,  I would be a very rich person. I mean for any of those thoughts, but especially that one. I think all of my friends and family can say that they’ve heard me say any of those phrases.

For me, there was so much calculation that had to happen before eating. Every once in a while there would be a rare moment that I would get what I wanted to eat and actually eat all of it. But most of the time I would get what I wanted to eat, then not finish it. Or skip eating altogether. That would be the easiest. I’d have to take into account how much I had ate that day or the day before. If I ate a lot more than usual one day, I wouldn’t eat as much or at all the next day.

Eating was anxiety provoking, whether people could see it or not. My eating disorder voice was going 1000 miles a minute giving me reasons for why I didn’t need to eat. It gave me all the excuses I needed. I believed all of the excuses. I used all of the excuses. I only needed to eat enough for survival.

For me, it’s wasn’t just food. It was a constant internal battle between my healthy self and eating disorder self. Most of the time my eating disorder self won. Food was going to hurt me. Change me. Make me hate myself for eating it.

NOW. It’s just food. Not all the time, but it’s getting more like that. I sit down for a meal or a snack and I think to myself, it’s just food; it’s not going to hurt me. Food tastes good, it keeps me from not dying. That’s a good thing. My eating disorder wants me to believe that food is dangerous and restricting is good way to cope with whatever I am dealing with. Let me tell you. It’s not. Everyday I have to tell myself it’s just food.