Okay, this is just getting ridiculous.
We went out for dinner tonight. And--all stresses about this situation aside--after the meal, I was so stuffed I LITERALLY thought I would puke. Then I remembered "Oh, yeah, and I have to eat snack in an hour and a half," and then I was even more scared I would throw up. Ick. Right now, I feel like I could go two days without eating anything and still not get hungry.
Who knew eating out was such an ordeal? Holy shit. First, you have to make sure that if you can't get a certain exchange of one thing (for example, fruit), you have to make up for it by ordering an extra exchange of something else (for example, veggies). I opted for the salmon with stir-fry and rice, but I had to also order a salad to have an extra exchange of veggies because I wasn't going to be having any fruit. So the waiter (who happened to walk by right when I (loudly) asked Laura "Did you just say 'I creamed my pants'?") brought our salads, but we couldn't eat them because we had to wait for everyone to get their food. Then we had to get to go boxes right away, so when we got our dinner, we could portion things out and put the excess food in the to go box right away. So, we got the to go boxes before our main meal. We had to put the salad in the to go boxes so the waiter (whose name was Trevor, by the way) could take away the plates and allow room for our regular food. Okay, so we put the salad in the to go boxes. Trev came by to collect the plates. We got our food. I cut my salmon in half, put half in the to-go box, then filled up the space left by the half piece of salmon with some salad from the to-go box. By the time we got to eating, Barb said "Will they be able to microwave this for us?"
Good question, Barb. Good question.
Other than the utter ridiculousness of the whole thing, it was actually really, really fun. Trevor, of course, had to walk by whenever I very loudly said something extremely inappropriate. We had this idea of ordering in different accents, but everyone opted out of that at the last minute. I did, but then I felt bad, so I ordered again. In an accent.
Trevor: "What would you like to drink?"
Me: (in regular accent) "Water."
Pause.
(attempting British accent) "Whuta!"
Trevor: "..."
I decided to give up the accent idea.
This morning, we went to OA and actually got there on time so I was able to get my token! I felt like a douche, but when I raised my hand after they asked "Does anyone have 30 days?", this cute old lady came over and hugged me and gave me my token. Apparently you're supposed to say something. Eloquent as always, I said:
"Hi, I'm Angie, anorexic/bulimic."
Entire OA Meeting: "HI, ANGIE!!"
"Um...I don't really know what to say. But I'm really grateful to be here with everyone."
After I sat down, I wondered if what I said even made any sense. Ah, well. They probably didn't recognize me today. I was actually showered, dressed, AND had make up on. I have absolutely no idea why. The girl they're used to seeing has a crazy curly ponytail, pajama pants, and an uneven skin tone because she's not wearing any type of cosmetics.
After OA, we went for a beach walk. Everyone was off doing their own thing, so I started walking alone. But I didn't stay alone for long. Ed decided to join me.
Ed: "Walk faster. Walk on rougher sand....it burns more calories. You have an hour until you have to be back. Walk for the whole hour, even though you're only allowed 30 minutes. Do it, do it. Don't stop for anything."
For some reason, I started thinking about what I was going to have for lunch. They tell us to avoid having the same thing, because that turns into a ritual, which is a behavior of an eating disorder. And I usually always have the same thing, because it's safe. So I started thinking "I should eat my fear food for lunch today. A bagel. Or a peanut butter sandwich. Or peanut butter on a bagel!"
Ed: "You're going out to eat tonight; isn't that enough?? Do you know that 1 tbsp. of peanut butter has 16 grams of fat??? Did you know that?? And you're considering eating it on a day when you're going to a restaurant? Are you fucking kidding me?"
This whole ordeal was driving me nuts. I decided "Fuck it. I'll do the bagel another day. I just can't handle it when I'm eating out tonight." But then I started getting all pensive and philosophical. I'm sick of this shit. I'm tired of having food control my life. I want to focus on other things. I want to go to school. I want to have a career. I want to have kids one day. I don't want to have a stroke worrying about whether I should eat peanut butter or not." So when we got home, before I could change my mind, I grabbed a bagel and whipped out the P.B. And I did it. And I felt really anxious and good and scared and pissed and proud of myself at the same time.
I've been getting "talked to" about the state of my room lately. Apparently it doesn't meet HG's standard of "neat". But I ask you--WHO HAS TIME TO CLOSE THEIR DRESSER DRAWERS?? Come on, I CANNOT be the only one who leaves these things open. I just don't have the time or patience to close them. And Barb came in today--when my drawers were LITERALLY like 1/4 of a centimeter open--and closed them for me. Hey, if she wants to do that on a daily basis, I won't complain.
We're home alone tonight. Tee hee. Lori's out all night with her man, and Adrienne is sick and couldn't come stay the night. So we're left alone. We wanted to do something crazy when we got back from dinner, but it's too damn tiring living with an eating disorder. We're all in bed already.
And since tomorrow is our late morning (sleep until 8, baby!!!), I'd like to fall asleep as soon as possible so I can soak up 9 glorious hours of REM.
Recovery calls.
