The scale terrifies me.
Everyone and everything (non-ED advice, obviously) tells you to weigh yourself regularly to monitor weight loss progress. I can’t do it. I won’t do it. I haven’t stepped on a scale in almost a month.
They tell you that the number doesn’t matter, but it does. They tell you the scale can’t measure self-worth, but sometime I let it. If the number is too high, I become numb. My life is sunk. I did wrong. I am not good enough: for my family, for my boyfriend, for life.
If the number is too low I am elated. Walking on air. And straight to the kitchen. It always leads to a binge and I don’t know why, or how to stop.
If the number is the same. If it is the same. If I am the same. That is the worst. It means that all the pain and hunger and suffering I experienced, the strength I showed, was for nothing. I am nothing.
Logically speaking, I know that our weight fluctuates daily and just because the needle goes up does not mean I’m not making forward progress. It could be that I retained water or gained muscle or…
Logically speaking I should have a healthy relationship with food.
But our EDs aren’t logical. If they were, we would have a quick fix. A one-size-fits-all solution. An answer to our puzzle. What a joke.
Best case scenario, the scale shows me the exact number I am expecting. It is not too high. It is not too low and it is definitely not the same. Then I can continue my flat existence, feeling a small iota of relief. Today I am okay. Just right. But tomorrow I will be unknown or too heavy or too light or too… And it will start again. It always starts again.