So they said, on reaching weight restored, one should start eating intuitively.
Eating intuitively. It’s easy, right? Eat when you’re hungry and stop when you’re full. Eat what you feel like eating, what your body and mind are telling you you want. Simple.
Easy for them to say. For me, it’s quite a different story, indeed.
If I were to do as they say and eat intuitively, I would stop eating my dinner after a couple of mouthfuls as that’s when I feel physically full. I wouldn’t eat half of what I am currently eating now, because it’s rare that I feel physically hungry and therefore, at times, I have to force myself to eat. And then there is the other side of the coin – the constant mental hunger. That’s the other extreme. I never really stop thinking about food – about what and how I am going to have it, how much, and at what time. I have cravings and I do not dare follow them. Because to me they do not make any sense. How could I possible crave more peanut butter when I’ve already had three tablespoons of the stuff that morning? What possibly could be the cause of my desperate longing to have another serving of cereal, when I have just polished off a whole one for my supper, not to mention the even larger one I had consumed earlier that day?
It makes no sense, no sense at all. No matter how hard I try to focus my mind, to pull it desperately away from these intrusive, screaming thoughts, they latch on again, clinging like a limpet to a rock, reasserting themselves with renewed and malicious vigor.
Even though I’ve gained weight, I can’t seem to stop eating.
What happened to that self-control?
You’re useless..it’s no wonder you’re looking so fat and dumpy..
Last night I stood and opened my bedroom window, gazed out upon the rustling, whispering garden: a garden that whispered of secrets untold, a garden in which every tiny plant had parktaken of life’s sweet cup; had permitted itself to grow, and flourish. And now that autumn was here, their brightness was fading; but to me they shone as brightly as they had in their summer finery.
Because to look upon them reminded me of the thing that for me cannot be done.
To grow and allow oneself to grow. Without putting a hundred restrictions in place and trying to change, or alter, what was meant to be; what is natural.
Because even after all this time I feel like I am still fighting against my body. Because I’ve reached that certain point: the glittering milestone with its diamond cut top and polished surface of cold shiny marble. The magic number!! The magic number which is bmi of 19. Once you’re here, so they say, you’ve done the hardest part. You’re healthy!! Well done!!
And having reached that number and placed my hand on its unforgivably cold surface, all I felt was panic, not relief. Right. So I’ve reached the golden number…so God forbid I gain a grams worth more weight.
Something had to give, so I cut a little back. And that’s how it remains.
It’s like following a precise mathematical formula. As long as the formula is followed, everything falls into place. I feel calmer, more secure, knowing that my weight is not going up, and the volcano under which lies the swelling magma of my anxiety is blissfully, idyllically dormant. The fissure remains sealed and uncannily silent; provided I stick precisely to the formula.
The formula of how to maintain my weight.
But if I once make the slightest step out of line, the crater is ripped open and the lava surges forward. With the heat it feels like it has enough power to destroy everything in its path.
That shiny stone may have looked beautiful from a distance, but now, having reached it, all I can taste is the metallic taste of betrayal. Better..?? I dont feel better. Is this really what the land of recovery truly looks like?
It is different, that much is true. For There are trees where once there was nothing but dead leaves and arid earth. But though the trees bear some sweet new foliage, their boughs are still deprived of blossom or fruit.
