Anorexic is the new orange.

I’m trapped in a prison of my own making. I now get that phrase. Being anorexic is the orange prisoner outfit in which I have cloaked myself.

It’s been a couple of weeks. I have lost a few pounds. I weighed 110.4 a couple of days ago when I weighed myself before leaving for a work trip.

During our weekly check-in, my supervisor asked me if I was alright and said he noticed I’ve lost a lot of weight recently. He used to work with college athletes and knows the signs. I ended up telling him and the rest of my small work team what’s going on because, let’s face it, in as soon as a couple of weeks I may not be going to work anymore for awhile so I can get help. They would be directly impacted by that, probably having to pick up some of my work. I have immense guilt about this right now.

My work team was very supportive, as I would expect a team of people whose work is to help college students succeed would be.

Almost immediately, I left for Vegas with two of them for a work conference. This trip has been brutal. I feel so imprisoned. I am spending a lot of time in my hotel room, and have ordered room service for dinner both nights instead of going with them. I’m missing Vegas, basically. To be a little fair, I have always loved holing up in my hotel room and ordering room service when I travel for work. So that’s not so unusual. This is different because I am with two co-workers who are more like friends, and so I think I would choose to go with them more than I am.

The conference food, I’m told, has been really good. I’ve eaten only fruit at the breaks, and salad and/or vegetables at lunch. At the morning break this morning, they had donuts. I REALLY wanted one. I cut a bite off a chocolate glazed and threw the rest of away. Then I almost left crying.

Why can’t I make different choices?

Why is being skinny so important?

Why is gaining weight so scary?

I was going to say, “Why is being fat so scary?” but it’s not being fat anymore. It’s being anything more than what I was. At 110.4, 113 now sounds like the worst thing on the planet.

What am I going to do? I can’t leave my little girl, and my husband with her to parent alone. I can’t leave my job. Will insurance even cover the treatment or is it going to be some exorbitant expense?

And all because I refuse to eat more.

I want to eat more. I miss food: pizza, a Quarter Pounder w/cheese, french fries, sweets. I miss it all.

But not enough.

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