Feeding

There is nothing wrong with beginnings. The new year coincides with a new semester here in Canada and the adoption of new habits seems natural, and the change is hopeful. The pleasure of Christmas gifts, especially new books and new clothes, is always the promise the objects carry for beginning a charmed life.

This year I would like to practice feeding myself. Since I began recovering from bulimia I've made great strides - for over a year I felt nauseous every time I ate, no longer - but it has only been during the past month that I have known when my body needed food, what it needed, and how much to put in. I cannot remember consistently noticing, recognizing, or responding to hunger until I was 17, except when I was attempting to starve myself and noticed with pleasure and responded by drinking a glass of ice water.

For quite some time, I was really sick. I scanned books about recovery from eating disorders in order to learn tricks, I searched youtube for anorexia videos and drooled over emaciated photos.
I had sores in my throat, chalky teeth, and a horror of food.

Yesterday I kindly poured myself a bowl of cereal for breakfast. I had a hot bath, put on cigarette jeans and a soft shirt, put my hair up. I packed tea, water, fruit, and cookies to eat at school, and when I came home at in the early afternoon I drank warm milk and ate a mandarin orange while I sketched. Two hours later Tim and I had a Liberte yogurt tasting, and a piece of homemade bread. There was a pear, and more homemade bread with butter and garlic for supper, then there was letter-writing to the newspaper.

Later today I'm off to find some yoga pants and a sports bra. I would like to start running again as well, and using the gym at school that I pay 70 dollars a year to use.