I didn’t know how big this was and how rooted, deeply clinging and deceitful this is. My eating disorder (yes, I can say it now) was not what I thought it was. It is not just a habit of eating small portions. It is armed with weapons I did not even know existed, weapons with an agency and audacity which seem to function distinctly from myself. I am at a loss. I began intensive treatment on Monday at the best eating disorders program in Maine, 8.5 hours a day, 7 days a week. My diet is set at “Re-feeding” for the first week–amounting to a caloric intake of around 1500 calories, a laughably high amount considering this is the re-feeding stage (starting with lower portions so as not to shock my system, before moving to “weight gain” stage.
In response to the newly imposed rules and intake, my ED has me gagging myself in the shower, doubling over to cough out my dinner. Sneaking handfuls of laxatives. Exercising secretly. God only knows what will happen when I have to start a weight gain diet.
Backdropped: I actually want to be healthy. So what the fuck. What the fuck. I have never felt more helpless in my life.
