Weigh Day

Sorry for being absolutely useless at updates once again! It's been a rough couple of days, with lots of ups and downs. Sunday was a day of apprehension and terror, with the prospect of my dietician appointment and being weighed the next day. I am weighed twice a week and prior to the dreaded event I am completely on edge. I asked if there was any way I could be weighed backwards, as I know is common in many treatment centers, but the reply was that I need to learn to accept and deal with my weight. Knowing the number can throw everything though. I can go into an appointment feeling happy and alright about my body, then the second I get on to those scales all sense of reason and happiness floods out of my body. Episodes of hysteria usually follow, with my tears and self loathing filling the tiny room. This Monday was one of those days. I'd had a steep increase in weight, which I truly wasn't expecting. Mum was ecstatic, as i'd been losing for the past two weeks, but my guilt was indescribable. Honestly, there is no way I can step on those scales and win. I gain weight and I hate myself, anorexia sticks its ugly claws into my heart and tears. If I have lost, the guilt overwhelms me once again. I feel awful for the people I have let down. The scales are my nemesis. Straight after the appointment I have to go to the X-ray department for a chest scan, still crying. I am bundled into hospital gown, with my leggings still on. The back is not fastened and mum visibly flinches. It is my bones which upset her. Sadly my back is still disgusting, even with the weight gain. My spine presses against my flesh, with each bump visible. The ridges of my ribs are obvious and two wings protrude offensively. It is ironic, I used to adore backless dresses. Now I cannot wear them. I am too ugly. My bag is on the floor and my phone begins to ring. I dare not bend down, knowing the bones will be exaggerated if I do. Mum reads my mind and hands me the phone. It is my J, he speaks to me soothingly, proud of my weight gain. I listen, I believe and slowly I start to calm down. His pride every time the numbers move up, every time he sees me eat, every time I face my fear is like a shot of motivation and comfort.

The X-Ray is fine, apart from the nurses comment "you are so slender, how do you manage it?" This is like a slap in the face. People praising you for your own self destruction. I simply smile back and reply "believe me, it's not worth it". We leave the hospital and go home. Mum says I must have lunch, honestly, i'd rather chew my own tongue than the sandwich she puts down in front of me. For her, for J, for all those who support and care of me, I nibble. It takes half an hour, but only the crusts are left. "Eat a bit more" mum urges. "I never eat the crusts". "There's still lots of bread Maya, come on, I can see bread, be brave". Tears roll down my face as I nibble the bits I hoped she would not see. Anorexia is out to play, hissing hateful words. With every bite, I hate myself. Not because soon I will not be able to fit into my size zero jeans, or because I think I am fat...but I feel I am failing. Losing weight is what I am good at. I don't know what else is the same. Through school, I was not a high achiever, always feeling inadequate. The same was true for my hobbies. I just couldn't find my niche. Then I discovered the exotic World of diet and exercise and suddenly, I had something I was best at. People were impressed at first, stating how great I looked with the first few pounds gone. I was training hard for a half marathon and not eating to match. I got up before school, at 5:30am to run and for the entire day I would glow. Proud. Knowing I was the only one who had this strength. Whilst everyone around me complained about wanting to lose weight, "I really should go to the gym tonight, oohhh I just cannot be bothered", "I really shouldn't be eating this", I thrived off the knowledge that I would be visiting the gym for the second time that evening, I could avoid the food, I had incredible control. I'd found my talent, the only thing I was really good at...I suppose that is part of the reason it's so difficult to let go.