January 23rd, 2016
I just finished the most difficult meal I’ve yet to eat. Harder than the pizza, the pasta, the burger, the blizzard… Mom made breaded chicken for dinner. Like, home-cooked, fried in butter, breaded chicken. It was hot, and greasy, and sat on the center of my plate, staring at me alongside the lettuce that garnished it, and the piece of bread with butter. Let’s just say that the lettuce was the ONLY piece of that meal that I felt comfortable with. I ate it for mom though, and I’m glad I did. It was very tasty, and though I do feel like I’m being SCREAMED at by my eating disorder in this moment, telling me what a huge mistake I just made, that I should go throw it up while I still can, that I’ll need to restrict all day tomorrow and spend a few hours at the gym to make up for this, I KNOW that this fits into my meal plan. And I know that it meant a lot to mom that I ate it with her even though it was so hard for me. And tomorrow, the sun will still come up and I’ll still be breathing. Even though I just ate breaded chicken. But first, it’s time for mama and me to watch Shutter Island on the couch.