Every year winter comes and with it inevitably comes a vast arrangement of food entrenched into every gathering. It is unavoidable. Thanksgiving is the worst holiday out of all the holidays for me. Last year was the best Thanksgiving I ever experienced–we were in Istanbul and had a very normal Turkish dinner. The year before that, I went running the following day and threw up for the first time in 2 years. I went running solely to get away from the house we were at and with the intention of purging. I have been anxious about this Thanksgiving for weeks already, and have come up with numerous plans of action to get out of Thanksgiving dinner. I should have planned this better. I should have traveled somewhere and not been forced to entertain ideas of eating way too much in a short period of time. I hate hate hate the menu that is being planned. I think I’m going to be sick.

I know what is planned and have agreed to it despite not loving the idea (ie. Thanksgiving meat being lamb). I am now over-the-top anxious about it. Why can’t we just eat normal, semi-healthy-oven-cooked turkey? I want to be home where I know exactly what will be made and where everyone already knows exactly what I will and will not eat and won’t say anything about it. I want to be home where it’s warm and my mom will give me a hug and cry upon my arrival and my brother will mumble genius comments all weekend that only I will hear. I want to be home where football will play all day long on the TV at decibels way too loud.

I just want to be comfortable. I don’t really want to go home.

I am so uncomfortable right now. 

I am removed from my own skin. As much as I try to fit in it, I can’t. I cannot shake this feeling of being uncomfortable. I’m anxious when I don’t eat, I’m anxious when I do eat. I panic at night about what I just ate or I panic at night about how I’m going to not eat tomorrow.

I can’t just go and not eat at a place where I will immediately be discovered upon refusing food. And if I have to eat, then I will eat everything. I have zero self control. I will assimilate and do what everyone else is doing. And then I will feel overwhelmingly guilty afterward, and probably also have zero self control. I know this is illogical, but I don’t even see going, and eating and drinking normal portions as an option. I view my options as such: 1. Go, and eat what I deem as too much, and purge. 2. Fake being really sick and stay home. Alone.

Last week, I didn’t count calories, I didn’t weigh myself, I went grocery shopping and bought bread — which had been banned the 2 previous weeks — I worked out 4 times, I cooked myself dinner for the first time in 3 months. All appropriate things. But I feel so uncomfortable now. I feel like I keep trying to let it be, to let all of these things sit and be ok with them. But I’m not really ok with any of them. I am so afraid, I’m practically sure of it, that I have gained 10 pounds in a week. The week before that I didn’t eat more than 1,200 calories in any one day. I weighed myself everyday. I counted calories obsessively. And I felt like dropping dead every time I went running.  But I knew I’d lost weight. And it felt like winning.

I know this sounds completely insane; but on Friday I had so much energy to think and realize how much better I was functioning–and tonight I view that as a lie. A lie that’s making me fat. Everything you thought on Friday was untrue. You were getting fat just sitting there in that chair all day. How dare you buy bread and eat it and only run 15 miles this week. You’re going to have to apply for Biggest Loser at this rate. Congratulations, fuck up. If you go to Thanksgiving dinner, you might as well kiss thin goodbye and make friends with adipose tissue. 

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