I gained weight this week. Not much. Certainly not as much as if I were in PHP or residential or inpatient, where they expect you to put on multiple pounds each week. My dietitian was, on the whole, unimpressed.
And me? Well, let’s ask the two conflicting sides of my brain.
Rational Brain, what do you think of this weight gain?
This is good! It’s still not even close to where you need to be, but it’s inching closer and it’s making progress. And hey, weren’t you worried that you were going to have to eat more if you *didn’t* gain?
Eating disorder brain, what do you think about this weight gain?
Well, thank God it wasn’t more, you fat ass. You’d better watch out or you’re not going to be able to fit through the doorway pretty soon. Sure, it starts out with fractions, but then it becomes multiple pounds and then you’re fucked. Do better, work harder kid. You should still be losing at this stage in the game. Or at least maintaining, you fucking idiot.
So, as you can see, gaining weight is wrong. And right. And good. And horrible! And all of these things at once! My brain is tired and it’s only been 2 hours since my appointment.
I don’t want to eat any more. I don’t want to gain weight. I want to huddle in my room and cry over this small gain. I want to run to the gym and burn off a few hundred calories immediately.
But weight restoration is good. Vital. Good. Vital. I just need to keep reminding myself of that.
Don’t let the smile fool you. It’s really hard to be happy about this sort of thing.