The last few days have been a whole bunch of blah. I've been super busy finishing up with grad school. (I graduate in two weeks! Yikes!) In addition, I've been sick with the flu or maybe just a bad cold. Regardless, I've been sniffling and sneezing around my apartment feeling down in the dumpster. I've had difficulties the last few days with eating. I've had no desire to eat. It's not that I'm not hungry, and it's not that I'm consciously trying to restrict. I just don't want food. It doesn't sound appetizing.
But I've been fighting.
Appetite or not, I'm eating anyway. I'm pushing myself. It's the right thing to do. Actually, it's the only thing to do.
Starvation is not an option. It's a horrible feeling. It's a horrible word. And there's simply no place for it in my life.
There shouldn't be any place for it in your life, either.
There is, however, room for health. There is room for happiness. And there's room for hope.
Today I forced myself to eat even though I didn't really want to. I ate chocolate "ice cream". I ate chips. I ate pasta. Holy cow. I know, right? I rarely eat any of those things, let alone all of them in one day. But guess what: It didn't kill me. The world didn't stop turning. I didn't throw up. I didn't work out afterward. And I didn't gain even a pound.
Not to mention, it was yummy.
I'm so tired of being a slave to my eating disorder. The bitch doesn't own me anymore.
I have regressed, restricted, revolted, reacted, rebelled, repented, reflected, rededicated, regrouped, revamped, readjusted, refocused, reconciled, renewed, rediscovered...
and am well on my way to being