clevermanka (
clevermanka) wrote2021-03-28 08:53 am
Entry tags:
Food problems
Having an eating disorder is a very strange thing.
I know calorie restriction is destructive and nonsensical. I know the damage it does to my physical body and mental processes. I know the motivation for it is based on oppression and misogyny. I know these things. And still. And still, here I am, struggling to get 500 calories a day in me for well over a week, now.
Please understand, I love food. I love eating. Food has always been my primary source of consolation (yes, there are childhood issues--I'm very much aware of them). Binge eating has been a source of emotional comfort for me since before I can remember. But when things get bad--really bad--it's incredibly difficult for me to eat. When I feel I have no power over anything else in my life, I can at least control what I consume. And even though I know it's harmful, four-plus decades of that mentality has wired my brain so I honestly no longer feel hungry when I'm enormously stressed.
Yesterday I woke with a bad headache (never a great start to the day) and suuuuper anxious. I think it's safe to say it was the emotional baggage from the final move-out kicking in now that the physical fatigue has somewhat passed. It took a few hours to muster the motivation to make a bowl of noodles with chicken broth and wakame and then it took four hours to finish it (thankfully I don't mind cold food). I had a slice of toasted banana bread late in the evening. That was probably my lowest calorie day in a while, although at least I supplemented with a scoop of collagen powder in my (numerous) cups of tea.
Obviously my brain was of no use. I was so fragile I couldn't even listen to music--and I'm listening to something pretty much all waking hours unless I'm watching a show. Mostly I just sat on the couch in the quiet dark because opening the blinds to the world outside was too much. I was grateful when 9:30p rolled around and I could go back to bed without knowing I'd wake up way too early. I told myself that if I woke this morning with no headache I'd immediately make myself some rice and force myself to eat something before 10am.
(I also had a bout of anxiety that I had to breathe through for a good twenty minutes before even thinking about falling asleep, good times good times)
So because indeed I did not wake with a headache (huzzah), I'm slowly working my way through some plain rice and canned mackerel (don't judge me, I love rice with canned fish) and I'm giving myself a gold star for that.
I feel weird sharing this sort of thing, but I think it's important to be honest about how prevalent and long-lasting eating disorders are. How sneaky they are, and how strong. How they can overwrite such a basic survival trait as hunger. It makes me angry that fatphobic comments from friends and family so damaged my psyche that 40 years later I still suffer the fallout.
Someday I'll write a longer essay about this. How my mother would ask "do you really need that second bowl of cereal" or tell me I "needed a waist" to wear a wrap-around skirt. How my 8th grade home-ec teacher never said anything when we made food logs and I reported an 800 calorie a day diet (I was chubby! how could I possibly be starving? surely I was lying). How my (happy and fat) grandmother made me anything and everything I wanted to eat when my parents weren't around and how safe and loved that made me feel. How all of this combined into a mild but lifelong case of anorexia and binge-eating that I kept incredibly well-hidden for decades (my parents still don't know because it would make my mom Sad and I'm not interested in dealing with her being Sad at me about it).
Nobody looking at me would ever guess I have an eating disorder. But I do. It's bad enough that it permanently damaged my metabolism and likely led to some of my current health problems. And I think it's important to be honest about how many of us will never do all the amazing things we might have if we weren't so focused on avoiding being fat. It's a crime and a tragedy to take a brain that is wired to pursue delight and pleasure and warp it into something that no longer recognizes its own needs.
I know calorie restriction is destructive and nonsensical. I know the damage it does to my physical body and mental processes. I know the motivation for it is based on oppression and misogyny. I know these things. And still. And still, here I am, struggling to get 500 calories a day in me for well over a week, now.
Please understand, I love food. I love eating. Food has always been my primary source of consolation (yes, there are childhood issues--I'm very much aware of them). Binge eating has been a source of emotional comfort for me since before I can remember. But when things get bad--really bad--it's incredibly difficult for me to eat. When I feel I have no power over anything else in my life, I can at least control what I consume. And even though I know it's harmful, four-plus decades of that mentality has wired my brain so I honestly no longer feel hungry when I'm enormously stressed.
Yesterday I woke with a bad headache (never a great start to the day) and suuuuper anxious. I think it's safe to say it was the emotional baggage from the final move-out kicking in now that the physical fatigue has somewhat passed. It took a few hours to muster the motivation to make a bowl of noodles with chicken broth and wakame and then it took four hours to finish it (thankfully I don't mind cold food). I had a slice of toasted banana bread late in the evening. That was probably my lowest calorie day in a while, although at least I supplemented with a scoop of collagen powder in my (numerous) cups of tea.
Obviously my brain was of no use. I was so fragile I couldn't even listen to music--and I'm listening to something pretty much all waking hours unless I'm watching a show. Mostly I just sat on the couch in the quiet dark because opening the blinds to the world outside was too much. I was grateful when 9:30p rolled around and I could go back to bed without knowing I'd wake up way too early. I told myself that if I woke this morning with no headache I'd immediately make myself some rice and force myself to eat something before 10am.
(I also had a bout of anxiety that I had to breathe through for a good twenty minutes before even thinking about falling asleep, good times good times)
So because indeed I did not wake with a headache (huzzah), I'm slowly working my way through some plain rice and canned mackerel (don't judge me, I love rice with canned fish) and I'm giving myself a gold star for that.
I feel weird sharing this sort of thing, but I think it's important to be honest about how prevalent and long-lasting eating disorders are. How sneaky they are, and how strong. How they can overwrite such a basic survival trait as hunger. It makes me angry that fatphobic comments from friends and family so damaged my psyche that 40 years later I still suffer the fallout.
Someday I'll write a longer essay about this. How my mother would ask "do you really need that second bowl of cereal" or tell me I "needed a waist" to wear a wrap-around skirt. How my 8th grade home-ec teacher never said anything when we made food logs and I reported an 800 calorie a day diet (I was chubby! how could I possibly be starving? surely I was lying). How my (happy and fat) grandmother made me anything and everything I wanted to eat when my parents weren't around and how safe and loved that made me feel. How all of this combined into a mild but lifelong case of anorexia and binge-eating that I kept incredibly well-hidden for decades (my parents still don't know because it would make my mom Sad and I'm not interested in dealing with her being Sad at me about it).
Nobody looking at me would ever guess I have an eating disorder. But I do. It's bad enough that it permanently damaged my metabolism and likely led to some of my current health problems. And I think it's important to be honest about how many of us will never do all the amazing things we might have if we weren't so focused on avoiding being fat. It's a crime and a tragedy to take a brain that is wired to pursue delight and pleasure and warp it into something that no longer recognizes its own needs.

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Hope the post-move stress fades soon.
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And thank you, yes, here's hoping. ๐ค
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*hugs you so, so much* <-- 95% of my response
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I don't know that I've ever actually had an eating disorder, though at my *very* low times I stopped eating and dabbled in self-hurting. I see you and I see your struggle.
via GIPHY
(well, shoot! haven't quite figured out how to insert a gif, but I left it so you could appreciate the intention.)
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Also loving that someone else is a fan of rice and canned fish. When my appetite/energy is better, I top it with soy sauce and chili-garlic paste and scoop it up with seaweed snacks. YUM.
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This is the closest I've come to writing an actual full-length essay in a while, so my essay brain might? be? coming back? ๐ค
And yeah, my mom has no idea how much damage she did. She always "struggled" with weight herself, but now she's got neurological issues that make food consumption difficult (swallowing problems plus a sensation of burning lips and tongue whenever she eats). She's lost 100lbs over the past couple years and her doctor worries about her keeping her weight up but she ~jokingly~ brags about her thigh gap and I'm like Mother, No. What. Why. /o\
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At least I can recognize and talk about, now! Disordered eating is so normalized that I didn't realize I even had an eating disorder until my mid-30s.
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*hugs*
Also very proud of you for talking about it!
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We look so much alike people used to swear we were sisters, but she always complained about how unattractive she was while telling me I was the most beautiful girl in the world (except for being chubby of course). She did the best she could with what she she had, but there's a lot of self-awareness that she still completely lacks. She's not very emotionally balanced, so when I've tried to bring up heavy stuff like this, all she does is berate herself and cry which is 100% not helpful for either of us. And no, she will not go to therapy even though I have suggested it. A lot.
I think talking about this sort of thing is important, especially as someone who doesn't "look like" like they have a disorder. Just like how disability is often invisible as well. If I can't do anything else, I can challenge assumptions.
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And thank you for speaking out and sharing what you're dealing with--so often, these things get silenced and so when others are dealing with the same things, they feel alone.
I hope the anxiety/stress calms down and your appetite returns soon.
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Exactly. I'm fortunate not to be easily shamed or silenced, so I feel like it's important for me to be loud about it.
And thank you, yes, little by little, right?
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I'm glad you had a "(happy and fat) grandmother." *all hugs*
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When I have more interest/energy I do scoop it up with seaweed snack sheets! It's my favorite fast meal.
And yes, hurray for fat and happy grandmothers! ๐งก
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Part of the reason I wanted to start up my dreamwidth again was for similar reasons to what you're experiencing. I'm started a diet in January but I know....I KNOW my diagnosed anxiety and depression comorbid with my family's tendency towards OCD and OCD-like behavior also manifests into turning a diet into a disorder. I know bc it's happened to me, my father, my siblings before. And yet... I don't write this to shift focus but to let you know I see you, I know where you are. And I mostly just want to give you hugs.
I think you are brave to write about it. I think you make amazing observations on how insidious it becomes and how rooted in our way of thinking it is, from childhood experiences onward.
I wish you the very best.
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And if I can just say--I'm all for healthy eating choices. I (usually) do my best to consume mostly nutritionally-dense foods because that's what my body needs. But diets as a means to fix something about yourself (psychologically or physically) never, ever work in the long run. If you ever wanna talk about this, please let me know. I'll send you my email if you'd rather that than discuss in public.
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Do you follow yrfatfriend on twitter? She writes A LOT about these issues, and sometimes it is hard for me to read her work b/c it cuts so deeply into my fat body, but it's valuable and important.
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Sucks that you're in a similar place, friend. *solidarity fistbump*
This morning I woke up hungry and actually ate, like, five bites of food within two hours of waking! It sounds ridiculous, but I'm pretty pleased about that. Progress!
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But now I have to ask, do you eat the mackerel hot or cold? I love tuna but have never had canned mackerel.
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I put the fish straight out of the can onto hot rice (I discard most of the oil). Mackerel in the small tins (I don't care for the version in the canned-salmon-size) is very mild. Much less fishy than sardines, but also drier. It's more expensive, so I usually stick with sardines, but I felt like treating myself. ๐
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I heard a podcaster talk about how following IG accounts for working with kids who have food sensory issues has helped her with her ED. Since her relationship to food had become so broken, it's been helpful to look at how to nurture it like you would for a kid. It reminded me of how taking care of ourselves is so important when the structures in place are built to tear us down, and that it can be hard and painful work (and it makes me angry we have to do it in the first place).
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That's fascinating! Thank you for that. Did she have suggestions of accounts to follow? I'm not even sure what to look for on that.
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Kids Eat in Color
https://www.instagram.com/kids.eat.in.color/?hl=en
Feeding Littles
https://www.instagram.com/feedinglittles/?hl=en
I also ran across Eat the Rainbow Kids, but have not checked them out that much.
https://www.instagram.com/eattherainbow_kids/?hl=en
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These issues never really go away, do they? I always thought all my body image garbage would fade as I got older -- that I'd hit, I don't know. Thirty? And magically make peace with myself. Didn't happen!
I did gain perspective, though. Enough to understand just how petty and frivolous it is to care so much about the size of my...EVERYTHING. But did that make me stop caring? Nope! I still care. I just feel really, really guilty about it now.
*hugs: part deux*
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There are brain-rewrites that can be managed, but never overwritten and I'm pretty sure this is one of them for me.
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Yes, talking about it helps. Being honest about it helps us (and I mean us as a society) become aware of how harmful it is, and hopefully getting better about it in the long run. <3
(Also, rice with fish is A+++!)
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