I’ve never been good at decisions. I get overwhelmed and then take the easy way out. Often, when put in a new situation food is a huge part of what makes me overwhelmed, and the easy way out is not eating. I did it when I was 13 and at summer camp, and I did it when I first went to college with dining halls. I’m doing it again now that I’m spending time abroad.

The first time I did it, I didn’t notice any immediate side effects and maybe there weren’t any because it was a week. But when I had reduced my eating significantly for longer, I would notice myself walking into the dining hall and looking at all the food. Just looking at it and seeing what I was able to deny myself, walking out with only a glass of water. After returning home and gaining back the weight I had lost, my second semester had a better meal schedule, where I would actually eat something. However, that semester was probably the worst of my life. The hours and hours of extra sleep I had needed the first semester (probably from lack of energy coming from food) was replaced with hours of me sitting on my bed playing mindless games on my computer, trying not to think of anything, unable to motivate myself to do anything else. I don’t remember much from that semester, but it was the worst semester of my life.

Later, I would decide that my depression was either caused by or catalysed by my eating habits of the semester before. So now that I’m doing it again, I’m trying to be very careful. I find myself sleepier than I usually am and I know that’s a sign. The problem is that I was overwhelmed again and again the easiest thing to do was to forgo food so I wouldn’t embarrass myself by my ignorance of the language or the etiquette. But I do know that the easy way out is not the easiest in the long term.

However, even after only three weeks of intermittent food I find I’m disgusted with myself if I dare eat three meals a day. I found that in my last place of living there was a scale and I would weigh myself religiously once or twice a day. Now there is no scale and I find myself rationalizing the purchase of one. I won’t buy it because I know that’s another step in the wrong direction but I really want one. I find myself walking out of sandwich shops telling myself they didn’t have the right sandwich or there were too many people. I try and tell myself that losing ten pounds in two weeks (I didn’t seem to lose any more after the third week hit) is a bad thing. But I know I’m pleased, I know I’m ecstatic that the pants that fit me when I was at a fairly low weight when I bought them, were too tight only a month ago, are now falling off even though they don’t look as flattering when the waistband is hovering around my crotch (thank goodness for all the long shirts I own).

There’s such a disconnect between what I know and what I feel; this is becoming quite the struggle, but I’m glad the struggle is there at all. Fighting this has to be healthier than giving in.

These aren’t the only times I’ve made myself eat as little as I could but these are the times that seemed to have an external influence on why I was doing so.


February 1, 2010. Reflection.

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