Well, first off, I’d like to give a royal eff you 🖕🏻 to this nurse I’ve never met before who came over to me while I was eating and interrupted me, which is already a strict protocol violation in of itself. Then she has the nerve to grab the bowl of soup I’d finished and put the empty broccoli stems in to compact it as part of my OCD, and tell me, “Why did you put this here? You didn’t finish the broccoli yet?” To which I, with all the fake politeness I could muster, kindly replied, “Actually, in fact I did. Please don’t touch my dinner.”
Learn the rules before you try and catch me on something, woman. This is already difficult enough for me without you breaking protocol left right and center and wasting the little time I have.
Anyways. I feel disgusting and bloated after eating everything today. My urges to exercise are through the roof. Hopefully I’ll be able to go back to my room, get my evening meds, turn on the TV for a little, and then get to bed in order to catch up on what I lost last night. Hopefully this gets easier with time. Right now it’s seeming impossible. During the times I have to eat, it’s like there’s the stereotypical angel and devil on my shoulders. The angel is telling me that eating is okay and healthy and necessary, and the devil is literally my disorder personified. Except this isn’t an even debate, like a chess match or something. This is the devil kicking the bejeebus out of the angel so forcibly that my heart feels the impact and starts skyrocketing its pace to try and run away from the fight. Also known as massive, massive anxiety. This, too, is something I desperately hope fades with time.