Because apparently, generalized anxiety and panic-level anxiety weren't enough. I'm currently working my way down (I think) from a mild panic attack (if any panic attack can be said to be mild -- let's put it this way: mild for me) that was the result of trying to be social; gearing up to be social; namely, getting dressed for a party.
I'd planned to stay in tonight. It had been a long and arduous day -- physically as well as intellectually. I had to run (literally) around campus multiple times, counter-protest, shout at political antagonizers (I won every war of words, thankfully), make the mile-long round-trip trek to and from my apartment on foot, give interviews to various reporters, and go to therapy. Keep in mind, in case you've forgotten, that my body was basically running on empty. I was spent.
So I was set to call it a night, kick back, and catch up with "Community" on hulu when I got a text from one of the sophomores telling me about a party that was happening a couple blocks away and that I should come. I texted back that it sounded like fun and I'd see if I couldn't swing by.
I couldn't swing by.
It began with the realization that, were I to go out, I would be drinking, and this might lower my anxiety enough to get me to eat. It's weird that while alcohol tends to cloud most people's judgment, the fact that it alleviates my anxieties around food actually helps me to see more clearly -- at least as far as nutrition is concerned. Still not gonna take the old Echo for a spin when I'm sloshed, though. (Note: when I talk about drinking and then eating, there are no "drunchies" involved. For me, a post-inebration indulgence is rarely more than a sandwich and usually closer to a piece of fruit, if anything.)
So here I am, already pissed off because I didn't eat completely raw today (there were three crackers involved in measuring the correct dosage of "brain medicine"), and now I start thinking, shit, I've already nearly met my quota -- a couple shots would fulfill it entirely -- and then I might eat and go over. And then logical AJ makes a cameo appearance and is like, that would be a good thing, because your "quota" is killing you, and then anorexic AJ basically starts throwing a temper tantrum about how my weight is only just starting to make real progress and go down by "enough" each day and this party would completely ruin everything and I'm just so sure I'd gain back all the weight I'm losing from my period. And everyone will think I'm fat anyway.
I took a few deep breaths and decided to play it by ear; to act as if I had committed to going to the party. I started getting dressed.
And then body image had to go and ruin everything. After a solid hour of trying different outfits on and off and on again and adjusting and pulling and tugging in front of the mirror I realized that my heart was beating insanely fast and I had a terrible knot of panic in my stomach and I had no choice but to forego the excursion entirely.
My eating disorder, satisfied in its victory, was temporarily quelled.
And now here I am, sitting in bed, thinking... just a few more pounds and then maybe I'll be skinny enough to go to a party.
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