Breakfast

New dietitian likes me.  Great start, it’s mutual.  New dietitian wants me to eat breakfast.   “They” train them to be authoritative I guess.  The new dietitian is promoting false hope to someone who has been around the block more years than what she’s been alive.  New dietitian pops her agenda on me – and wants me to eat food for breakfast.

I cried for almost a week.

I felt like smashing my fucking head against glass.

I feel so stupid.  And worthless.  And all because I am again confronted with yet another human who’s training and life experience disables their ability to comprehend that food terrorises me.  That eating in the morning paralyses me in a terror so huge re audio and visual flashbacks – that I sit here with all the intent in the world to eat something and the panic begins to dictate behaviours that are less than favourable.

So I’ll go back to see new dietitian at some point perhaps this week or next – and dutifully report back to her.  The response is always the same from clinicians – try harder.  Not in so many words – well of course.  I have experienced this over and over again – for years – at least 30 years from various clinicians.  They’re in a job.  They’re trained mechanically.  The equation is as follows:  If this + that doesn’t work = client is non compliant / not working hard enough / resistant to treatment / etc.

How does this help me?  It doesn’t.  What it does do is allow me to eat like a fool – just to despise myself.  Just to hate myself more.  Just to show myself that again, I have no idea what I’m talking about.  How could I possibly know what’s right for me??  After all, I have no training worthy of standing independently – right?  I have no right to expect to be supported in what I know is right for me.  Fuck – even alleged friends and family have shown me that over the years.

Disappointment + Disappointment + Disappointment.

So, I microwaved 5 Cheese Sausages and buttered up 5 pieces of bread for breakfast this morning.  And I distracted myself so I could eat mindlessly so as to not trigger off anything that I would then end up in pool of tears about for the remainder of my day.  And now I hate myself for forcing myself to do something that I knew would stimulate my self hate stuff.  Why did I do it then?  To appease the new dietitian.  It’s evidence for the food journal that she thinks will be a great idea, completely not hearing me say to her that I’ve been there done that and all it served to do was remind me of what a loser I am.

Why am I doing this for her?

A).  I’m hopeful that she will be the one who gets it.  I’m hopeful that she’ll be the one who will be able to assist me to save me from myself.  Somewhere deep within I think that if I just do what she wants – she’ll come to see that she’s got it wrong and then she might be able to help me with what I actually need help with surrounding my food stuff.

And that’s the truth of it – rightly or wrongly in your mind – that’s the truth of it.

And that’s why I took it so hard when the Disordered Eating person didn’t call me back – again.  I need someone to hang on to.  Someone who actually gets it.  Who can get me.  Cos I need someone to hang on to with this food stuff.  No-one gets it.  No-one.

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