He won't be home for 65 days. What's the point of cooking when I'm the only person here? What's the point of eating at all? I could lose so much weight in 65 days. I could be thin again. I could do whatever I wanted. I could get back on track.
Back on track? I don't remember being on track during the days anorexia controlled my life. I was way off track, the train busted up and derailed. Still, I'm alarmed at how loud that negative voice has become lately. For so long I was able to keep her quiet. I controlled her the way that she used to control me. I had her so scared she'd barely raise her voice. Now she's screaming at me. Trying to worm her way back into my life.
But guess what?
It's not happening.
I made dinner despite my eating disorder. I made a homemade vegan pizza and ate more than enough of it. I have no guilt or remorse. Why should I feel guilty? For feeding myself? For nurturing myself? For loving my body and taking care of it? For respecting it? For protecting it? For rewarding it?
If my eating disorder thinks I'm the same weak nineteen year old I used to be, she is badly mistaken. I'm not a sad, scared little girl anymore. I am a strong, capable woman who will not be bossed around by some number on a scale.