My sick mind will find any excuse

My brother set me straight yesterday.  You probably would have.  He is a physicist.  He said that no way would a mere 4-1/2 pound weight gain cause knee injury, even though it’s over 5% of my body’s weight.  Even though I gained it in three weeks.  He pointed out that I don’t spend every waking hour on my feet.  He said the knees are much more strained from climbing stairs than they are from a mere 4-1/2 extra pounds.  He explained this to me over the phone, in plain terms that I could understand, and said I was just making up excuses not to eat and to lose all the weight I had gained.

And so I considered what he had said and felt like a fool.

And I went over the past two or so weeks in my mind:  Hadn’t I been careless lately?  Hadn’t I carried more on my back, in a knapsack, than usual?  Surely, I had walked around more than I was accustomed to, considering that I didn’t walk around at all in May and much of June, given that I couldn’t support any exercise at all on what I was eating.  On Friday, I carried home a ream of paper, two large bottles of mouthwash, and a number of other items on my back, maybe a mile on a slight uphill incline.  Just my usual errands.  Why the heck I didn’t use a rolling backpack is beyond me.  That was probably the catalyst of it all.  Stupid me.

Then my sick mind got to work.  Extra weight, true, that very well may have done it.  I began to obsess. I stewed.  It escalated.  Soon, I was in tears.  By afternoon, I could think of nothing else, and by nighttime, I was sobbing.  Kleenex covered my coffee table.  I cried myself to sleep.

Is this “normal” for a person who is just starting to eat regularly again?  Should I expect an occasional complete meltdown?  I have been told that tearfulness, and having my feelings come out and overwhelm me, is totally normal and to be expected, but this?  I don’t know.  What is “normal,” anyway, and should I even be concerned with it?

Did I handle the whole thing appropriately, or did I act like a complete ass?  No one heard me crying.  I think the neighbors couldn’t hear me, because the walls aren’t that thin, and they are hard of hearing; I know this because they turn their TV’s up to an intolerable volume (you should hear “The Price is Right”).   I threw the Kleenex in the trash–appropriate.  I relied on my friends for support–maybe appropriate, maybe not.  I would prefer if I had “turned to them,” not “relied on them.”  Okay, not appropriate.  I called my brother and blubbered.  He’s getting used to this.  No comment.

Through all this, I did eat.  I cooked and ate.  I took out my frustrations in the kitchen.  I made homemade pizza last night.  Appropriate.   I even cleaned the counter after rolling the dough in flour.  I used a pre-made frozen whole wheat dough that I bought at the food co-op.  Cheater.

Today, I’m kind of baffled.  Wondering about the future.  Wondering just how much more stupid I can get.  Wondering how much longer it will be before I can write again.  I waste one heck of a lot of time dealing with this disorder, especially now.

One thought on “My sick mind will find any excuse”

  1. Oh, my dear, sweet friend, Julie Greene…
    You are neither stupid nor sick. Post-anorectic eating does bring up strong emotions,and so I think it makes sense. I’m glad you could talk to and hear your brother’s words. I’m no physicist, but I wasn’t convinced the strain on your knees was that dangerous.

    Happy Independence Day!

    Luv,
    MAZ xox

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