Title Goes Here

While in session with my dietitian on Sunday, I brought up the issue of how anxious I am to visit my parents for Christmas (along with my sister and brother-in-law), knowing that I would have to eat far more than my eating disorder (and by extension, anxiety disorder) is comfortable with me eating; that I would have to eat a far far FAR greater variety; that the entire visit would revolve around me "putting on a good show" for my family. And that I would inevitably gain some weight.

I was sitting there, telling her all this, when she suddenly asked me why I felt it was so important for me to put on this act in front of my parents.

"Because if they knew how terribly I was doing, they'd send me back to treatment," I answered, without even stopping to think. I didn't need to think. This was/is a fact.

"Here's what I'm worried about," said my dietitian simply. "I'm worried that you'll come back from visiting and feel like you have to cut your calories drastically to compensate for what you've eaten in front of your family."

"Well, yeah. But I have a plan to restrict, regardless. I know how many calories I'm eating every day until May."

"Obviously you're going to have to increase your calories somewhat, while you're visiting, so that you don't raise any major red flags," my dietitian went on, "but what if you didn't try to put on a show and instead compromised with your eating disorder? Like you'd restrict, but not as much as you're doing now. You could try to maintain over the holidays."

Maintaining. Ugh. But it's better than gaining.

"Look, I don't like where your weight is now, and your body doesn't like where your weight is now, but I feel like at this point, with your anxiety being where it is, maintaining is all you can handle. I don't want you getting off the plane and immediately going down to X calories, or fasting, or taking laxatives; that'd be awful."

"Right."

"And I still think you should use the holidays to talk to your parents about how you're struggling."

"I can't do that."

"Well, I think you should. But I also think you shouldn't be eating to please anybody else. That never ends well."

I have (understandably?) mixed feelings about this arrangement. One, I'm thrilled. It's great to have it worked out so that I don't feel like I have to deceive the world for Christmas, and it's great that if I play my cards right, I can stay actively anorexic for the holidays.

But.

But but but.

It's not as if my parents don't know to be on semi-heightened alert. They know I'm at three therapy sessions per week. They see my weekly grocery bill. They know my panic attacks have gotten more frequent. And they know that I'm terribly unhappy with this whole sophomoric sophomore situation. And -- even though I was eating super well then -- they did see me at the end of the summer, for heaven's sake. So yeah. They'll be watching. I have to play this very, very carefully. Certainly more calculated than I've been since I was living with them, maybe even longer. They know what I eat when I'm doing okay in recovery, and if they see me not eating those things, or eating them in significantly decreased amounts, yeah, it'll stir something up.

Also. I cannot remember the last time I successfully compromised with my eating disorder. Let's be real, actually: I've never successfully compromised with my eating disorder. That's sort of the nature of an addiction, isn't it? I can't be "anorexic, only just this much" for the holidays. I'm a slave to anorexia. If it says "WHAT THE FUCK, DON'T EAT THAT, YOU FAT PIG," and I say, "but I've only eaten X today, and everyone's watching, and I thought we agreed..." guess who wins?

(Hint: it's not me.)

Any "compromise" with the eating disorder is an act of defiance against the eating disorder, because the eating disorder does not rely on fairness, or give-and-take, or working in shades of grey. I'm either with it, or I'm against it. And in order to be "with it," I have to do 100% of the things it tells me to do, 100% of the way, 100% of the time. If I don't, I'm against it, and I panic and hyperventilate and hate myself. And panic some more. I've got lorazepam on hand just writing about it.

Finally -- I feel like by suggesting that I restrict (albeit only slightly) over the holidays, my dietitian is saying that my weight isn't too low. That I can still afford to lose a few pounds (even though prior to this appointment -- aka when my weight has even been a little higher -- she has said the opposite of this). That I don't need to gain weight. Wanting to gain weight and needing to gain weight are two very different things -- and, like most individuals with anorexia or bulimia nervosa, I don't want to gain weight but I certainly want to need to gain weight.

I know, logically, this part doesn't really make sense. I know what my BMI is, I know what my ideal weight percentage is, and I know that if I were to check into any treatment center today, I'd be on a weight gain plan.

But still. It kind of feels like my dietitian just told me, yeah, go ahead; restrict. You can afford it.

So that's where I am. Worried my parents will see, worried about the impossibility of "compromising" with my anorexia now that I've been told not to eat to please others (before, that was the only excuse I had for eating semi-normally while in the throes of my eating disorder), and worried about what my dietitian thinks of my weight.

Eating disorders: a total mindfuck.