I cannot eat Asian food or pork. Or rice. I don't know why.
The other night I went to a hibachi grill with my friend and his mother and I thought that although I probably wouldn't eat anything I would be fine. See.I thought I had gotten past the past.
I used to hold my breath when my mom picked up cashew and sweet and sour chicken. I barely breathed the whole way home. I covered up my straw so that the smell wouldn't infuse my soda pop. I state outside until I was positive that all of it was gone.
At the hibachi grill I got pasta. No rice. I had veggies. They started out giving us salad. I could barely eat it but I was fine. I was fine. Then they started cooking.
And in my head I heard it. You won't leave this table until its gone. Stir fry. My second family once made me feel so insuperior that I don't know how much worse it could get. I sat there.
He put the food on my playe and I cursed and I implored myself. I ate one noodle. But those voices. The flashbacks. I am not good enough. I cut my noodles onto more pieces than there are people in Japan.
I almost leaped from my seat. They were screaming. Why can't I just eat the ******* food. Bathroom Panic attack Compose myself Return I'm fine but they know its a lie.
And so I am so sorry Karen.and I am so sorry everyone because I realized something that night. I may not have your eating disorder. I don't feel fat and I don't throw up. But that night I had an eating disorder. And I could barely stand the voices the pressure the memories the hate. You are amazing. Every day feeling souch pain with food. You are my hero.
I forced myself to swallow one noodle but you make a choice daily to do so much more. I think I have a price of the puzzle. I don't pretend to understand. But now I know. Every tiny bite you take. Every time you say no to the toilet you are my hero. And when you fall. You are still my hero.