…Because, likely, if you have an eating disorder you love Thanksgiving- but hate Thanksgiving food.
Personally, I have no problem admitting I am the scrooge of Thanksgiving (okay, fine. And Halloween… Costumes and Body Dysmorphia just DO NOT fly with me no matter if I dress like a slutty nurse or a Pentecostal nun.)
Give me your pilgrims, your Indians, your Thanksgiving Charlie Brown VHS, The corporate Vacation Days, Family small talk, The sweet smell of doughy rolls-
But my God, keep your stuffing, your pecan pie, your cranberry sides, your corn pudding like 1000 feet away from me.
There are times I wish I could use a get-out-of-jail-free card on my eating disorder; Thanksgiving is one of them.
If it were up to me, I’d sit at the ”kid table” far far away from the buffet of food and play airplane while someone feeds me a spoonful of carrot mash alongside my cousin’s 1-year old.
Alas, recovery- however- doesn’t exactly approve of carrot mash (although it might just be the ONE food item I actually don’t know the calorie count on…)
Anywho, despite my silent protesting- Thanksgiving feast occurs again- as it did last year and the year before etc., etc.
Having spent the last three major holidays in Rehab-sanctioned AA meetings, (does Valentines Day actually count as a major holiday by the way? I might be exaggerating a bit for writer’s purposes) I figure why not continue the trend.
Given that this is my first holiday ”back on my own”- Which yes, I do have half my family coyly trying to make ”check in” calls to- I guess- make sure i’m not binge eating chocolate easter eggs- I’m lying here with my roommate searching for Overeaters Anonymous meetings tonight.
Do I really want to go?
In fact, as I write this I’m debating ways I can shirk around it and then still post later that I did go- to which none would be the wiser.
I’m clever, I’m lying here thinking. I can end up just not going- drink some wine with my friends on a balcony- and then praise myself in the morning for being a committed “recoverer” via a post.
Whatta load of bullshit, right?
This is what happens. You lie for so long, you just automatically have a backup tale written for you by your head.
It’s unfortunate- but it’s another side truth.
I am going to go tonight, though I suppose it’s not like anyone will know.
I’m gonna go- and sit in that room full of people that I attended once before.
Same place, same time- a few days before rehab.
I went and cried with my beanie pulled down over my face and I didn’t speak.
I wasn’t ashamed, I just didn’t feel like I belonged. Didn’t feel like I had made myself sick enough to be there-
“I’m not even skinny anymore,” I cried looking at the thinner girls in the room. “You didn’t even do it right.”
I left the meeting that night, a man finding me in the crowd.
Trim, fit, adorning a business suit- he stopped me as I walked out and stuck out his hand.
“First time?” he asked, as I pulled out my headphones.
I smiled at him in my southern way.
“Scott,” he said. “Always glad to see a new face.”
“Lindsey,” I said, wiping snot from my nose. “Thanks.”
“Keep coming,” he smiled, finding my eyes. “It’ll grow on you.”
Right, I’d thought then as I pushed open the door. Going to rehab bud, and then I won’t ever need any of this again.
Ah- to be young and silly.
Perhaps when I go tonight- I’ll talk.
And perhaps afterward, I’ll find Scott, tap him on the shoulder- and shake his hand first.