When I was deep in the throes of my ED, one of the hardest experiences I could possibly endure was being around a food I had labeled "bad" "unhealthy" "treaty" and "wrong."
Seeing those adjectives now, I realize how totally fucked my perceptions of food really were, and I can unpack the whole rollicking psychologically breakdown surrounding how I got there, but that's not what I want to do today.
Today I want to talk about something I think a lot of people do, even if they've never had an eating disorder, but for me, the ED symptom was an indication of a larger problem.
See, this is how it went.
I worked someplace, where on a semi-regular basis, someone would thoughtfully bring in a treat for us. A box of donuts, homemade cookies, a cheese platter, etc.
I would stare at this thing ALL. DAMN. DAY. I was convinced that if someone saw me partake in the treat they would judge me. "Oh look at Jess, scarfing down that donut. What a pig. What a total slob."
Of course that was the ED talking. Nobody thought that way except me.
To everybody else, it was just a box of donuts, have one, don't have one, whatever.
To me, it was fucking torture.
By the time my coworkers were leaving, and I was the last person to leave most days, I would be left alone with the remains of the treat.
It was often a cardboard box with three half donuts, crusty and hard from sitting out all day, their fillings or toppings spilled out and smeared, their icing ruined, ready for the trash can. It was unspoken that my coworkers anticipated, I would just toss the thing at the end of the night.
Except I couldn't.
When it came time for me to shove the box down into the black plastic bag, I would be overcome with a series of feelings, all of which so strong it was impossible to untangle them at the moment.
I will attempt to do so now.
I can't believe I made it the whole day without caving and eating a donut! I am superwoman! I am so good! I am healthy! Controlled! I ate fruit and drank loads of water! I should celebrate my commitment and willpower!
I am sad and hungry. I can't believe I don't get to have a donut. I worked just as hard as everyone else. They were brought in for everyone. I watched Sara eat the one that I would have wanted for myself if I had been allowed to pick one out. She didn't even look like she enjoyed it. I think she threw the last bite away. I wish I was allowed a donut.
(Remember I am the only person who was dictating what I was and was not "allowed")
I'm a fucking grown up! I am allowed to eat whatever the fuck I want! This is so stupid! You call yourself a feminist! You're disgusting! You still restrict like you did when you were anorexic! You pretend to be so progressive, but really you're just a coward, so scared that everyone's going to find out you have nothing to offer other than your physical appearance. You don't by the way. You are nothing without your thin, young, body. You are worthless otherwise.
That's not true!
Then throw them away!
And I would angrily take a bite from one of the left behind donuts, and the taste would flood me, the sugar with dissolve into my bloodstream, and my heart would race. Before I could breathe, I'd have stuffed all of the leftovers into my mouth, chewing eagerly, anxiously, swallowing in dry, angry gulps, barely tasting the different types of donut, sometimes choking or scraping my throat raw in an effort to get them down fast enough.
Then I would chug a bunch of water and my stomach would constrict and bloat and finally, red faced and ashamed, I would berate myself for giving in to temptation, for eating literal garbage, for being as worthless as I knew I was all along.
Writing all that down is so sad to me now.
I still struggle with that negativity.
But I no longer let it interfere with my eating.
I have worked, and will continue to work, really hard to treat my body like the wonderful machine and vessel it is.
You'll be happy to know that at least once a week, I go and I buy myself a donut, exactly the kind that looks good to me, and I sit down and i enjoy every mouthful with a nice dreamy dark cup of coffee.
I am always surprised by how much pleasure the experience gives me now. That eating the thing that I really want is so enjoyable. It's fresh, not stale. It's soft, not rough. It's the one I want, not the one I settle for. When I am done, I am satiated.
I have even done the unthinkable and not been able to finish a whole donut in one sitting. I have wrapped up the other half and put it away in the fridge for a later cup of coffee. I have forgotten it was there, or discovered it and been delighted to enjoy it a day or two later.
When in the midst of my disorder such behavior completely blew my mind. I never dreamed I would be able to eat things with joy. I always thought I would feel merciless disgust, self pity, and remorse surrounding those foods I associated with binges.
I've been thinking about this a lot today because I think that somehow that behavior, like a bubble in some extra thick psychological wallpaper, has popped up somewhere else in my life.
I remember one of the thoughts I had back during those out of control times was, "You're a garbage person. You're literally eating trash right now."
It made me feel so worthless, so helpless, and like I was always going to be that way.
Like I deserved to.
And now, I know that I do not...
