I forgot to tell everyone that I finally reached my goal weight! I have no idea what it is or what I weigh, but apparently I now have a “healthy” BMI. My dietician started decreasing my meals about a week and a half ago. The decreases were barely noticeable, until today! Today I was moved to “family style.” (Whenever I hear family style I think of Stevie Ray Vaughan’s last album with his brother Jimmie. . .) Anyway, here “family style” means I get to plate myself. I am required to plate 1 main dish and 2 sides, and I am required to finish 100%. The Care Techs check to make sure I’m not restricting, but it’s nice/terrible to have a choice. Nice because if I want one side and not another, I can choose. Terrible because my eating disorder, Frank, is SCREAMING at me to restrict, just a little.
“You should take the smallest omelette”
“Just skimp a little on that side, just a little off the top. They won’t notice.”
Like I said, I’m required to take 1 main and 2 sides. My dietician wants me to take 1 main and 3 sides because my weight dropped when they started decreasing me, but I don’t want to take more than I have to. I don’t know if that’s me or the eating disorder. . . .
The nice thing about being “plated” (i.e. having your meals set out for you) was that it wasn’t MY decision what I was eating. If they gave me a lot, I ate it. If they gave me less, I ate it. But my eating disorder is still telling me that IF I have a choice, I should choose vegetables instead of dessert, I shouldn’t get butter on my roll, I should take the smallest main dish available, and never under any circumstances use condiments! (Except hot sauce)
I’m hoping as I get used to choosing my own meals, Frank’s voice will fade. I barely hear him most of the day, and it’s wonderful. I can actually hear MYSELF think, and as it turns out, I’m kind of an interesting person. Who knew?
Did you hear that? That disgusting gurgle sound? That’s Frank dying because I said something nice about myself.