Blood-Sucking Fiends or For the Greater Good

I donated blood yesterday.  Probably not smart for someone restricting calories, but hey, I've yet to pass out so I must be okay.  Though I was turned away four times in a row in February for having low hematocrit.  This time I was 2% over the minimum level.  My iron supplements and daily kale intake must be working.

After I'm done donating, arm wrapped up in a pretty purple bandage, the lady at the blood bank tells me I should go eat a BIG meal.  She tells me I should stuff my pockets with cookies.  Grab a giant bottle of juice to-go.

"You need to replenish your blood!"

"It's okay to eat because donating blood boosts your metabolism!"

I looked it up, you burn an extra 600 calories.  Psh.  I burn more than that on a light exercise day.  That's not why I donate.  I honestly want to help people.  Or maybe I subconsciously think it will negate the dark little corners of my brain.  The parts that whisper horrible things.  The parts that make me a horrible person.

Either way, it's a good thing I've become so skilled at hiding my ED.  Last night my parents stopped by the house unexpected.  I had been laying down at the time; donating blood always makes me so very tired.  When I heard tires in my driveway I leaped out of bed and ran to the door (God forbid they catch me taking a nap - time spent relaxing is wasteful, wrong).  The sudden movement made my vision dim and the room spin.  I stood chatting with them, smile plastered on my face while black ate away at the edges.  They had no idea anything was wrong.  When they left, I pressed my back to the cool door, slid down until my head hung between my knees.  Breathe.  Breathe.  Breathe.

Eventually I felt well enough to crawl back into bed.  Tomorrow I will feel better.  Tomorrow I will be shiny.  Always tomorrow.