This is going to be a scattered post, and for that I apologize.
No binging since Sunday! I'm not actively restricting, but I am trying to cut out processed sugar and keep my calorie count reasonable. The familiar ache of being always just-a-little hungry has been nice. I braved the scale this morning - it's been over a month. The last time I stepped on the little grey box, it told me I had gained 10 pounds. I cried in the shower after. This morning was a better experience, I lost the 10 pounds plus two more. (I weighed myself five times, just to be sure.) It's the smallest number I've seen since high school. A normal girl would have done a happy dance. And for a moment I was happy. A little burst of serotonin, then nothing. I am empty.
I've noticed this phenomenon with a lot of other people living with EDs. Our whole lives revolve around making that number smaller, but when we reach a goal weight it just becomes our new weight. So we have to make a new goal weight. Then another. And another and another and another... I'm beginning to think it's not about getting down to a perfect size. It's the journey, not the destination that matters.
Last night I had dinner with my parents. Well, they ate dinner. I sat sipping a glass of water. Telling them I already ate usually gets me out of eating. My dad will give me a look that says he knows I'm lying, but almost never says anything. He will sometimes load up a plate and put it in front of me, not saying a word. Small portions, perfectly sized. I love him so much, I usually eat what he gives me. It's almost a game. He gives me quarter-size portions and I eat. I think he knows if he harangues me, or gives me a heaping plate, I will rebel. I can't help myself. My dad is the most amazing man I know. I'd do most anything for him, but my ED has its limits.
Anyway, off topic. After dinner, my mom tells me she bought a skirt that doesn't fit. She asks if I would like to have it, which is not out of the ordinary. My mom has a habit of buying clothes at discount stores without trying them on first. If they end up not fitting (because they're too big), she offers them to me. I've gotten some pretty neat pieces of clothing this way - my mom has a surprisingly good fashion sense - so I was excited to see what waited for me in her closet. I ran upstairs to find a beautifully-detailed, pencil skirt. It fit almost perfectly, just a little big around the waist. When I showed my mom, her face froze in an expression I couldn't identify. Apparently the skirt had been too small on her, not too big.
I've finally done it. I am smaller than my mom. I don't think either of us know how to react to this development. Somehow I'm more excited about the new skirt than the weight loss.
And now, because I am obsessed with pencil skirts, a little fashion to brighten your day.