I have zero grip on the eating part of recovery. In fact, it continues to decline and I continue to lose weight. I can no longer see a bottom line number, nothing seems small enough. I recognize this is very bad news.

I walk into therapy today, quite literally starving. I ran 6.5 miles at 5a.m. and many of those miles were at a pretty quick clip. I’ve eaten 25 raspberries, which didn’t even touch my hunger.

What did you eat for breakfast?

I cringe and tell her.

It’s almost time for morning snack, what were you planning on having?

I can see where this is going immediately and every single fiber of my being is about to take flight for the door. I do have an emergency Luna bar in my purse and I tell her so after some prompting, but really I was planning on skipping it all together because, well, I’d be in therapy and we’re not eating meals together, right?

I’m sure you see where this is going. 

FUCK. That is all I can think. FUCK FUCK FUCK.

Why don’t you just take it out, and hold on to it. You don’t even have to open it. 

I can feel the heat radiating off my body. I worry for a second I’m going to toss those 25 raspberries. Overwhelming anxiety turns my mind to mush and I cannot talk. I can barely breathe.

What would happen if you opened it?

OK, come on logical brain. I manage to realize it is just a Luna bar that I badly need because I haven’t even touched the calorie deficit I created this morning with that run. I need this bar. I need the whole…ok half. I can eat half of it in front of her. And then the eating disorder wins and I win.

If nothing else, the extent to which I am in much too far over my head has been made very evident, thanks Luna bar.

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