It’s funny how numbers become so important in eating disorders. How they taunt. How they rule. How they become the sole focus of everything. Every breath, every pulse of blood through vein.
Four numbers. One decimal point. Two dimensions, lifeless, just numbers. How could they possibly be anything more?
And yet those four numbers have been mocking me since yesterday morning, when my doctor handed me my paperwork from the day’s visit. Those four numbers, written in the space for diagnostic code. Emblazoned on the top of my forms for labwork.
Are you familiar with Winnie the Pooh and the Heffalumps? They way they go all psychedelic and dance around in his head until he goes utterly crazy? That’s what these four numbers did last night as I lay in bed, trying to sleep.
They dance and jumped off the page and grew and shrank. They laughed and mocked and sang obnoxious ditties about my failure. About how my doctor was such an idiot to attach those four numbers to my chart. Still so fat. Still so undeserving of those four numbers.
Axis I. 307.1 Anorexia Nervosa