This is the honest truth: I’m starving. Slowly. Myself. I can see it happening, feel myself losing control, and simultaneously feel impotent to do anything about it. Last night Jess and I were talking and she said that she was worried about me – and that she couldn’t care for me. The stress of worrying about my eating habits has quickly become too much for her when it’s in conjunction with all these other things that’ve been going wrong, and now the plan is for her to leave on Wednesday or so. We had a long, long talk last night (to 3 am; then of course I woke up at 9 am and nothing could induce me to sleep more) and began working out some of the trouble that has occured over the last week and a half. We’ve had some hard times here, mostly as a result of me being a complete fool, but I want to try to bring out all the stuff that hasn’t been said before she leaves so when she goes it’ll be on the best possible terms.
“Best possible” – what a joke. Nothing is the best possible, starting with my mental state. Here’s an excerpt from an email I wrote to my MiL that begins to explain: “My body and mind are not communicating right about hunger; instead of satisfying hunger I relish that stomach-completely-empty feeling. But at the same time I know it’s unhealthy and terrible for me, and that if I don’t eat for another couple weeks I could very well end up in the hospital where they force-feed me. I’ve called Kathleen Miller and left a message for her saying that I need to talk. But it’s very scary to see myself surrounded by food (mmmm, bread! English muffins! Yogurt! Muddy buddies!) and then see myself spurning those very foods. I can’t help it, you see; the last couple years my anorexia has been underground just waiting for a chance to come out. Ian’s departure has simply precipitated a weakening of my resolve (along with getting a cold, which tends to dampen one’s appetite) and allowed that particular demon of mine delicious free reign. I’m so worried about myself I can’t say, and at the same time I can’t do anything about it. I am honestly and completely helpless to make myself consume a reasonable, normal amount of food. I would be willing to guess that I’ve lost oh… 5 lbs or so since I left Seattle. Not having a scale is both a boon and a bane.” So you see, my mental stubbornness is fading away quickly. I see myself approaching a point – or have I reached it? – where food won’t enter my mouth without somebody there to tell me “OK, Katie, now it’s time to eat.” Time to eat, ha! I don’t feel hungry; in fact I feel deliciously full of NOTHING! And why should I bother to make big meals like twice baked potatoes or enchiladas when I’m the only one who will eat them? I liked cooking for Ian both because it was good food and because it made him happy. Now I’m making nobody happy if I made a delicious meal, so what’s the point?
Does it disturb you to hear me say I am starving myself? Because it’s simple as that. I can’t stop me, I can’t force me to do anything, and I see clearly what my problem is. You can see how very weak I have become because this is my plea: somebody please make me eat. I need food, desperately, but if you offer me some I will tell you I’m not hungry. It’s a lie! A filthy, jagged, glass-edged lie! It’s not fair of me to say all this but I feel like if I don’t in two more weeks, or maybe three, I will be at the point of literally eating nothing (right now about once a day I eat bread and cheese… a little bit. Maybe some milk or orange juice) and that would both ruin my semester and this very important trip to London. Gaaah! Good Lord, what’s wrong with me? I don’t want to look like a model, I don’t want to be too thin, I just want to be ME! But if I eat I can’t stop thinking about how fat it’s making me (ha! Me, fat? I’m a bunch of twigs held together by ligaments. Geez), how I cannot be eating this. If I eat normally I feel bloated. I want to cry. Instead I forsee a long bath with The Crying of Lot 49, my next English book. Maybe I’ll have a glass of nonfat milk while I’m at it… or maybe not.
– KF –
Click here for my schedule this semester.
1 day to Clark
47 days to Ian