TW: Stay safe lovely people, we talk about body image and eating stuff.
I looked down at the pan in front of us. Nineteen was trying to cook something for our tea, but we all felt exhausted, scared of the constant pain we all feel, and just not hungry. Nineteen felt disinterested. She didn’t want to eat because she was worried it would taste of ash, worried she’d get fat (like he used to like, love handles gave him something else to make fun of), worried she would just be stuck in this out of control body forever…
She was pretty much having a panic attack in front of a pan. I counted six pieces of pasta sitting there, the ravioli kind. There was more in the packet.
“Nineteen, why are you only eating six pieces?”
“I don’t think I’ll manage anything else,” she replied, her hands shaking as she picked up the packet for the sixteenth time. “I can save that for tomorrow.”
I looked at the pathetic amount left in the packet.
“Nineteen, just make the rest and don’t worry. If you can’t eat them now, we can always eat them tomorrow. They’ll be pre-cooked and ready to go then, no hassle.”
She agreed and I watched her drop them into the pot.
The Dutchman was on IM to us the whole time, telling us that we would be ok and he was there to help. I told nineteen to just add olive oil, salt, butter and pepper to the meal, but she was still worried that it wouldn’t taste good. The Dutchman said to make it taste good,so she added mixed herbs.
Sitting down to eat it, she was pleasantly surprised by how nice simple ingredients did taste. She asked me how I knew, and I replied that I had been making food for a very long time, and that experimenting with new things didn’t bother me in the slightest. Eating a little bit of something tasty was something good.
Nineteen told the Dutchman she felt out of control and eating is the only thing she can control at the moment. He reminded her that if she ate, she was controlling something. She was fighting an urge, which would control it. She hadn’t seen it that way before… Nor had any of us.
This morning I woke up in pain again. Getting up hurts, I swallowed my pills and headed downstairs, and looked at the various breakfast options. Not enticing.
Nineteen’s feelings are still pretty strong over food. When she feels threatened and out of control of her circumstances, she doesn’t want to eat because it feels wrong to let your body dictate what it wants you to do. It has been a struggle asking nineteen to let me make breakfast, but luckily she’s let me.
At the minute, we have lost about 3kg. I personally attribute that to being unable to eat properly for a while and not being able to exercise at all for at least a month. The heart arrhythmia hasn’t helped, and we feel tired, so putting on muscle has been next to impossible.
I hate being this skinny. If there was ever a time for me to feel triggered, it’s now. Looking at the unhealthy hollows my cheeks form, the knobbles on my knees where the patellae are sticking out, the nasty sticky-out cow bones of my hips… When cows are underfed, their hipbones look huge and pointy and anomalous. That’s how I feel.
Even nineteen doesn’t like our weight loss. She likes to be able to feel like she can defend us at the drop of a hat. Like this, we couldn’t even fend off a fly.
The younger two don’t like our knees. They don’t like the bones that stick out and look weird- they always hated that back when it was them. So, we all have our issues.
All of us are struggling with still being in pain, with no answers. We are hoping that the appointment with the gynaecologist on the 5th August will help… Otherwise, it’s back to the drawing board.
We all just hope that whatever this turns out to be, the Dutchman will still do his thing- that is, be there whenever we need him. He promises he will, and he’s not giving up. He has never given us a reason to doubt him before, so I don’t think there’s any chance of him getting sick of us being ill.
We are so lucky to have him.