Recovery Mutterings

1. I actually really just want that salad, without the large GUILT FREE sticker on it (see also: guilt free brownies, guilt free fruit cups (?!?!), guilt free kale chips, guilt free hummus). Remembering and then retroactively feeling bad for all the apparently GUILT CONTAINING salad is not a good road.

2. Find me a major holiday that does not involve food. I dare you. The trifecta of conversations about sweets, overeating, and diets that is Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas? Oof.

3. “I would like to go on a date with you. One that does not involve planning or eating food together.”

4. That thing which is memorizing the location of mirrors in every new location so that you can avoid them. My college has an unavoidable mirror in the women’s bathroom on the third floor, an avoidable mirror in the bathroom on the fourth. There is one path through the gym locker room that avoids all three (three!) mirrors.

5. Doctors offices. About a year and a half ago I sliced up my hand, deeply enough that I was concerned about the nerves for my left pointer and middle fingers. I also have a fairly strong phobia of injury and injection. In between passing out and attempting to find my insurance information for the doctor (I’d moved that day, everything was in a mess of boxes) I remember one continuous thought: what if they need to know my weight? What if they have to weigh me? I alternately promised myself that I wouldn’t beg them to avoid putting me on a scale and swore that I would just tell them: I had an eating disorder. Please don’t weigh me. I fought for that past tense.

6. I have met all but one of my partners during periods of anorexia or flirting with it. Someday I will believe this is not what caused the initial attraction.

7. Someday I will wear pants again/stop avoiding jobs that have a dress code including pants/stop giving up activities that can’t be done in skirts/sprawl/lounge with abandon

8. Someday I will be okay with the things are not going to happen someday.

9. Someday.

“The wounded woman gets called a stereotype, and sometimes she is. But sometimes she’s just true. I think the possibility of fetishizing pain is no reason to stop representing it. Pain that gets performed is still pain. Pain turned trite is still pain. I think the charges of cliché and performance offer our closed hearts too many alibis, and I want our hearts to be open. I just wrote that. I want our hearts to be open. I mean it.” -Leslie Jamison, A Grand Unified Theory of Female Pain

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