Dad. We’ve become more intimate and in touch with one another than any other daughter and father. You’ve seen the battles I’m going through and you willingly volunteer to fight alongside me, the shield and sword of love and determination in your hand. I wish I could not bring you the pressures I bring upon you. You are a beautiful person, and I’ll always be there to remind you so even in your darkest times. I love you dad.
After surprising my dad with cinnamon and honey infused fried bananas topped off with some eggs on toast and a massive bouquet of orchids on the side in the morning, we sat in the sun and enjoyed each other’s company for a while. We then decided that it would be nice to spend some father/daughter time wandering the city’s laneways and secret coves and just chatting our way through the city of Melbourne. But as the day progressed towards lunch time, I became more and more anxious. I had promised myself that I would eat out on this special day, just enjoy sharing a meal with my dad and laughing and gossiping just like normal people. But anxiety got the better of me. I swear I have sweat more tears than Usain Bolt running a thousand times. It’s fucking mental. After about an hour of my fretting and constantly looking at menus and turning them down, I decided to man up and just deal with it. We settled upon a nice alleyway, just what I had dreamed of doing on this very special day, and ordered a zucchini pizza to share. The crust was very thin (thank god) and everything was fresh and homemade. We laughed and gossiped. Finished with no hurry, and continued our day, arms linked, through the city. I love my dad for trying to understand as best as he can.
So even though I’ve been more lenient to trying more different foods (vegan only) I seem to either cut down before that meal or eliminate some food after that meal. I know this is part of the whole eating disorder, but I just can’t seem to put a stop to it. I haven’t been truthful to anyone, not even myself. I look up diets on the internet and wonder why french women don’t get fat and I punish myself for not exercising and eating. I now no longer have breakfast but replace it with numerous amounts of water and green tea. For lunch, I only have a bit of greek salad and pluck out the feta that burrows it’s way through the salad leaves. I don’t eat my snacks anymore. For dinner, I have about two teaspoons of quinoa and a bit of stir-fry. And yet, I still punish myself. I push myself to cut down on more. The nagging thoughts of guilt and being fat overwhelm my thoughts of recovering. I just don’t know what to do anymore. I want to get better, I really do, but I’m scared. Scared of being lazy. Scared of being ignored by my parents yet again once this is over. Scared of getting fat. Scared of the voices in my head.
Am I really recovering?
To whoever and wherever you are, I hope you have a beautiful day or rest of day.
Adios 🙂
Fighting the Devil with Cooking Utensils 