My mouth waters as the scent of baking bread fills the house. A standing mixer has temporarily taken up residence in my kitchen. Its presence is meant to make my abundance of holiday baking easier and less time consuming. It has had the added benefit of tempting Penguin into rolling out loaf after loaf of his amazingly delicious bread. I've eaten more refined carbs in the last two weeks than I have in the last year. Up until last night, I've even been okay with the intake.
I finish the last of my vegetable stirfry and place the empty bowl in the sink. Penguin's most recent loaf, a rosemary and cracked pepper soda bread, sits on the counter. I decide there is a just enough room in my stomach for a thin slice. Dry, no butter. My fingers wrap around the knife handle.
"Geez, my bread is going to make you fat again."
The statement immediately sparks a fight or flight response. I drop the knife and step away from the cutting board. A gnawing hole opens in my stomach, grows and eats away at my insides. I want to cry and scream and run away.
...make you fat again.
I smile at him and comment, "yes, I have perhaps been overindulging." Leaving the bread where it is, I excuse myself to the bathroom.
I purge as quietly as I can. I purge until I am empty, clean and pure and full of shining light. The euphoria is short lived.
Will is always be this way? Will every stupid, thoughtless comment put my ED in control of my actions? Because I know Penguin's comments are unintentionally hurtful. He is naturally skinny, and has been all his life. Him and his daughter (who is 5'8"and 98 pounds) constantly joke about "getting fat" after a big meal, or a weekend of splurging. To them, it is just words.
Still, the comments hurt. It hurts when he jiggles my belly fat with a grin, even if he does the same to himself. I don't know how to tell him how much it hurts, without revealing everything.
I'm just rambling at this point. Nothing will change. It never does.