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I Am Eating A Delicious Lunch
A meal through the lens of an eating disorder
I am eating a delicious lunch.
Leftovers, food I prepared from scratch for a special Saturday dinner, heated in the microwave of an office break room on a chilly Monday.
This dish has butter, and sour cream — not the light variety I usually buy and am truly fine with most of the time, but the full-fat stuff specifically for cooking so your sauce doesn’t curdle as easily.
It has heavy cream, and pasta too, and I’m resisting with limited success the urge to berate myself for eating it. After all, these are Bad Foods. They’ve always been Bad Foods. And if I’m eating them, especially at my current weight, then I must be Bad too.
It’s really that simple, though of course, it really isn’t.
As I eat, I’m hyper aware of every roll of fat, every dimple, every body part rubbing against another body part where I’d rather have a gap. Sometimes, when I’m deep into myself, I think I can feel the fat molecules growing under my skin.
This is decades of yo-yo dieting and restricting that eventually transformed into binge-eating…
