For the last ten years every single time I have a doctor appointment (for anything), I get so much anxiety days and sometimes even weeks before the appointment purely because I know I will be stepping on the scale. I’ve visualized going in and asking to step on backwards, or ask not to be told or just asking to not step on at all, and then the eating disorder says; just be a normal person and get on the scale.
I admit I’m nervous to see my weight in therapy this morning, and she calls the doctor’s office. Right then. There was zero percent chance I would have made that phone call. I’m relieved it’s out of my hands and she has done it for me. But I am immediately angry at myself for admitting this and letting this happen because now I won’t know it and I HAVE TO KNOW. I calm myself down by thinking there is no way they’ll be good enough at keeping it hidden.
When I arrive at the appointment and the tech takes us back, I feel a little bit like a child–like I can’t handle information and it has to be withheld. Which, I guess, is true, but I also feel a little out of control. That is my information, my statistics, I should know what it is and be in control of it. And I feel like the tech is probably thinking she is dealing with a crazy person. She was also way too mindful about hiding it and I never saw it. I keep trying to tell myself this is a good thing but I am also so irritated at myself. I ruined my chance to sabotage myself. Because knowing would have ruined my day. Any number would have ruined my day and caused more restriction.
I am terrified whatever the number on the scale is going to be, is going to be too much, but somehow the doctor is terrified for me that the number is too low. I tell her multiple times to try to bring down the level of concern; but it’s not as low as it was, 103, right? So see, it’s getting better. She doesn’t seem to care at all about that.
You look too thin. (What does everyone see) Your weight IS too low. You’re restricting, you’re over exercising, you’re purging. You have to stop. If for nothing else, for your babies. But you have to stop.
I know. I know. I know. So. much. guilt.
What is your nutritionists name? May I send her the results of the lab work? Who is your mental health provider? Does she specialize in eating disorders? Did you eat breakfast? Did you run today? I don’t want you to pass out on me in the lab.
This is overwhelming. None of this is that serious. I’m not going to pass out. I’m fine. I’m totally fine. My vitals are normal, everything is ok.
She goes over, again, all the side effects of everything I’m doing to my body and she loses me. Some of it is already happening and I am worried – sometimes- and other times I justify all of it by telling myself I’m exaggerating. Maybe it’s just a normal amount of hair loss. You’re over-analyzing. There’s no way you actually fit in size 00 jeans. It’s just that brand. Your skin has always been terrible. You’re bruising because you’re being clumsy. Your throat hurts/you have so much mucous because you have allergies. You’re lightheaded because you need to drink more water.
It’s not a normal amount of hair loss. Yes different brands size differently but I’ve gone multiple times to different stores and brands and the fact is I am a size 00, or 0, or 2/3 and most of that is falling off which means the KIDS section is next? Which won’t even fit because I have hips and (what’s left of) breasts, and pretty muscular thighs. There are so many adult women thinner than me, I have no idea where they shop. And that’s frustrating and not something I actually want. I don’t actually want to be any thinner, logically. I don’t want to be in the kids section. Emotionally I DON’T SEE ANY OF THIS and it’s literally driving me insane. I’m sure my skin is horrible because I’ve messed up my hormones with improper nutrition. I’m sure I’m bruising easily because…I’m not getting enough of the right nutrients. I’m positive my throat hurts from purging and everything that feels like a never-ending cold is also from purging. I know I’m lightheaded because I need food.
And then the doctor, very regrettably, tells me she’s moving IN TWO WEEKS and we have to see another provider. I almost cried. The very first doctor I have ever felt comfortable telling all of this to (and also cared for both my babies) and I have to fucking start over again.
The reality checks are increasing in number and level of concern and a part of me is terrified for my health. The other part thinks I’m still invincible. And the two together have created the loudest thunderstorm.