Throwing Fits

She stopped mid-sentence and mid-step and for a moment I thought we were going to have a hostage situation.  Her small frame was fixed in front of the door, blocking my path of egress.

That’s like driving drunk, she says.  I don’t feel comfortable letting you leave and drive away from here.

Toward the end of our session, she asked how long it had been since I’d eaten.  She wasn’t surprised at all by my answer – my entire demeanor had changed, she said, from last week to this week.  We talked about the cycle I was setting myself up for – trying to figure out why, after so many weeks of doing SO WELL, I would go back to where I was.  She asks as we walk to the door if I’m feeling at all hungry – or if I’ve managed to completely numb that out.

I mean, I know I’m hungry, but I just know because I’m dizzy.  Not because I feel hungry.

I’m stupidly honest sometimes.  This is one of the reasons my nutritionist loves working with me – because I couldn’t lie if I wanted to.  But now, I wish I had.  I panic.  She has made me eat or drink in her office before.  The thought terrifies me and I wonder how to get out of it.

Granola bar.

I have a granola bar in my car, I say. I can eat that.

It’s not a lie.  There is a granola bar in my car.  I know, because yesterday afternoon, in a fit of rage, I threw it against the dash because I didn’t want to eat it.  This seemed to make sense at the time, throwing the granola bar.  It made sense the same way that my solution to being utterly frustrated at work this afternoon was to imagine throwing away all the food in the breakroom made sense.  Which is to say, it made no sense at all.

My nutritionist stares me down, looking for the tell – that slight movement of face or body that gives away the lie.  She half-begs me to eat the granola bar before I get on the road.

Okay, I say.

I don’t eat the granola bar.

I spend the next 10 minutes arguing with myself over whether or not I will eat dinner on my way to a church meeting.

I stop at the grocery store and pick up my single, safe to-go food.

I take a three bites.

I throw it across the car.


How did we get back here?


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