HAPPY BIRTHDAY SARAH!
Also I hate ice cream cups.
Today is my little sister’s Golden Birthday. She’s turning 25. I miss her. When I get home, no matter what month it is, she and I are going to get mani-pedi’s, massages, and sushi to celebrate the quarter century of Sarah Jean Kuhns.
Let me tell you about Sarah. She is my favorite sister of my heart. I don’t think two people could be any different then we are, but before I became entrenched in this dysfunctional relationship with Frank, she and I were actually becoming friends. I miss that. She is so many things I want to be. She is creative. She is honest. She is very very forthright. She is a vigilante of justice. She is beautiful. She is fiercely loyal to her friends and family. She kills it at karaoke. She is HYSTERICAL. And she doesn’t know it, which is even better. I’m very glad she’s mine. And I can’t wait to have a million babies because she’s going to be the best Aunty and spoil them rotten so I won’t have to.
Birthdays usually mean cake and ice cream, so it’s crazy that on her birthday I have to face the dreaded ice cream cup.
I think my refeeding has ended and weight restoration has begun. Scary. At morning snack I had to eat two ice cream cups. TWO. I feel sick. At afternoon snack I had to eat two more. AAAGGGHG. To quote one of my friends here, “Too much lactose, not enough Lactaid.” Just to clarify: Thursdays are “challenge days," which means that every snack is going to be someone’s “fear food.” I guess today’s “fear food” is ice cream.
I’m so anxious. Frank is yelling that I’m fat and need to exercise. Frank is pissed that my clothes won’t fit. Frank is reminding me that I’m going to have nothing to wear when I get out of here. Yes I can get more, but they won’t look good.
One of our “assignments” is to have a conversation and try to distinguish our own voice from the voice of our eating disorder. So here’s my attempt:
Frank: You are fat. You need to exercise. 4 hours at least. You’ve missed 6 days. SIX. You are a disgusting lazy cow. And you need to restrict. Don’t eat.
Me: I agree that I’m fat. But I won’t exercise and I will eat. Because I need to trust this program. And I need to trust that I’ll be happier on the other side.
When I try to separate myself from Frank I’ve found that I don’t know my own voice. I don’t know what I like. I don’t know my taste preferences. I don’t know who I am very well.
I know Frank more than I know me.
I need to fix that.
And for once, I’m really glad I’m here.