This morning, I thought I would treat myself to a danish. I finished it rather quickly, as I normally do with breakfast. My father decided to be an ass and ask me if I had bothered to taste that. I shot him the dirtiest glare I could and told him not to do that! He asked me what I was taking about.
"Dad, do not comment on how quickly I eat anything, its not funny. You've been doing it for years and all you've succeeded in is making me not want to eat, certainly not in front of you."
He didn't like that much and I don't care. I'm efficient in everything I do, including breakfast. I've been fighting against thoughts about controlling my eating for some time. Using food like a reward or punishment. If I'm "good", I get to have supper. If I'm "bad", then I have to wait. Those kinds of thoughts have been weaseling their way into my head for some time off and on and I'm scared of what rabbit hole I'll fall down if I follow that particular white rabbit.
The whole scenario has been bugging me all through my day. When I got home tonight, I took a hot shower, very hot to burn away the bad. Then I went to my room to get dressed. I've cut tonight, not bad, but I don't want to take care of it either. I don't want to take care of myself tonight, I want to be left alone. I know Shyla will be either annoyed or worried when she hears I've not taken care of yet another half dozen cuts. Maybe I am crazy...
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