Pain triggers me to want to eat.
It’s so innate and so primal, that I didn’t even want to come here to write about it because the thought of not getting to eat while I’m in this much pain is just…devastating.
And there’s nothing saying I can’t both write and eat. But typically writing disarms the urge. And these things I’m navigating tonight–this eating disorder and these thoughts–are just fucking destroyed at the prospect of not being satiated with food.
My pain today is like a 14. And the really hard thing is that I thought my pain yesterday was high. Which means this 14 could be so much more unbearable tomorrow.
I know I’m supposed to stay in today. In the moment. I know I’m supposed to ask where my feet are. I know I’m supposed to say “your will and the power to carry that out” and “do something cool.”
But fuck. This pain feels so much more than “an interesting sensation”. It’s so much bigger than me.
And so I want to eat. Because maybe eating doesn’t help the little things anymore, but maybe–just maybe–it could help the big things.
And the really terrible thing is that I don’t even believe that. My body does. And so now it’s another instance of my body trying to catch up with what my head already knows.
~~~~~~~
And I’m still sitting here trying to figure out if I can justify cake and ice cream because “it sounds good”. Because it’s a fun treat and we rarely have cake and so what. I’m thinking “as often as possible” and it just doesn’t feel possible right now.
God damnit.