The day always starts out like any other. I wake up, check the time, and instantly the dread begins to set in that I'll have to eat another meal. My mind races to the millions of excuses I have for not eating, and then my heart sinks because I realize I am letting the disorder win once again. So I get up and have breakfast, but not before going to bathroom and weighing myself, making sure that I didn’t gain any weight from the previous day. While making breakfast, my mind begins rationalizing what I am eating the entire time so I don’t feel any worse about myself than I already do. After finally finishing my meal, in which I accounted for every calorie, a trip to the scale is always in order. While in the bathroom, I take a look at myself in the mirror and can’t help regretting eating as much as I did. I make a note of every imperfection I see on my body and decide to skip lunch and finish the day with a salad for dinner. No snacks. After spending a good amount of time getting ready for my day, I head out to begin it.
When leaving my apartment, it almost feels as if I am leaving all my negative thoughts about myself behind, and I am ready to act as if I am just like everyone else. Throughout the day I keep myself busy to forget about the control that food has over me. I take on extra work and try to do tasks that require a lot of movement so I can burn some extra calories. When everyone heads out to lunch, I read a book instead, hoping the story will distract me from my fantasies about food and what it would be like to eat like everyone else. Once my coworkers return, I make up a story about how I brought my own lunch and then I get back to work, hoping that no one noticed how I have yet to eat lunch at the office.
After work, I get home and try to relax, but my mind won’t stop wandering to how hungry I am and my cravings for anything and everything are almost too much to bear. I go to the fridge and take out the ingredients for a salad and just stare at them, knowing that this is what I should eat but that I want something more. I decide that because I haven’t eaten all day, it’s OK to splurge a little on dinner. So I order in some food that’s anything but good for me and chow down. Afterwards, I go to the bathroom and look in the mirror, regretting every bite I took. I get back on the scale and see that the numbers have gone up. I look to the toilet as if it is my only means of redemption, and I let the disorder win, but vow that tomorrow I will win this battle.
