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Jun 2014
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.
Panic attack
Compose myself
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.
I love you
Cassie Stoddard
Written by
Cassie Stoddard  Missouri
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