I gained 3 lbs and have retained it.
I hope at least a little of it went to my heart.
You know, after I taught myself how to not eat, I sought the advice of a professional who specialized in dispensing advice to students who don’t eat, or eat too much, or reject what they eat after they’ve eaten it, or otherwise get freaked out about the idea of eating. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about, gentle reader.
(One of the things we talked about was the Minnesota Starvation Experiment. Voracious bookworm that I am, I read that baby forward and back, backward and forward. If you can get your hands on it, I recommend it highly.)
Anyway, one of the things this professional told me was that when a person loses weight so quickly, that weight comes from multiple sources in the body–water, fat, muscle, and on and on.
It came to me that my heart is muscle. And I kept thinking: I’ve lost weight off my heart. Some of that weight came from my heart. I kept thinking of it–it’s poetic, you know, like thinking about how we are compositions of carbon, just like trees. How, if a person was burned to ash subjected to the right conditions of heat and pressure, they could become a diamond.
I’m so sick of starving my heart. Literally sick of starving my heart.
It is true that I grew up in hunger, of sorts. But now, I am the one who starves myself. I abandon my friends and isolate myself. I pick men who are incapable of nourishing me. When I find one that could love me, I reject him. I have become my own abuser.
Now that my mind is clear, and I have perspective, and I have my power back, I have a choice. I get to decide. The freedom to accept. The freedom to refuse.