3-4 years ago, and on a Saturday morning, I would get out of bed relatively early, dress and head off to the supermarket to buy a cooked chicken with stuffing. I’d buy a crusty loaf of bread as well. Upon returning home I’d cut off a leg and thigh, half up the loaf and smear it with Meadowlea, then park up in bed with a dvd and Majick tucked up beside me.
2-3 years ago my respiratory system crapped out on me and I became dangerously ill. Had it not been for the compassion of a diabetes nurse I would have remained undiagnosed and I would have died due to GP negligence, pig headedness and an unwillingness to look beyond anyone with a mental health diagnosis.
At the most basic end – the one thing that I could barely manage to do (and there was much I couldn’t do), was to drive to the supermarket, sleep for an hour as the drive exhausted me, then go into the supermarket get groceries and a cooked chicken, put it all in the car and sleep for another hour before making the drive home. When I’d get home I’d get everything inside and then sleep again. The cooked chicken was the ONE thing I could manage with very little need to sleep before, during or after … I went from eating a leg and thigh, to gradually eating an entire chicken in one session. Survivorship at it’s greatest. I had no idea when I might next have the energy to eat again – it made sense to eat as much as I could when I had the energy to do so.
Today I ate .5 of a chicken. About 15 minutes later I felt full.
That hasn’t happened for 2-3 years.
I have some anxiety about having .5 of a chook in the fridge however have rationalised that if the anxiety gets too big in my mind I can biff it out for the animals so for now I feel reasonably safe. Safe a proud of myself – that I didn’t eat the whole chook in one hit.