Desperate Measures

For years I have written articles about food and weight loss. I’ve read hundreds of articles and studies. And I’ve successfully lost a ton of weight – or more accurately, certainly hundred of pounds, when you add it all up.

And yet I have no idea what to eat myself.

After years of starving and bingeing and dieting and overexercising and “eating  one plate” and only allowing myself 45 minutes a day of exercise and some combination of all of the above, I am I-don’t-even-know-how-many-pounds-heavier than I was for five years. Most of that weight has been put on since the beginning of July.

It’s fucking scary.

So Wednesday I went to see a nutritionist who specialized in eating disorders.

She listened to a brief recap of my history – and I tried not to cry when I told it -- and said something to the effect of: You have a very deeply entrenched problem with a lot of layers.

And I actually felt relieved: There is a reason why I can’t fix this problem myself.  And I felt slightly better just being in her office. Like I had taken the first step.

I have the world’s most restrictive diet at the moment. (I did feel slightly smug when I was allowed to “keep” the breakfast I eat every morning, though.) When I say “restrictive,” I mean in terms of foods I can eat, not in terms of calories. The idea is to get me to stop bingeing, not for me to lose weight (yet), unfortunately. I am not delighted, but at this point, I’m willing to do almost anything. I’d thought being slim would be enough to keep me that way – and after more than five years that way, I’d hoped maybe I had this whole issue kicked. But no.  

One thing I already have learned: I am way, way more sensitive to sugar than I thought. This morning I had some almond butter with my apple, and I reacted to it much more strongly than I did the peanut butter I’d had Wednesday afternoon. Which is to say immediately I wanted to eat another five servings. I checked the packet: It had evaporated cane juice as an ingredient.

Today is the first whole day I’ve eaten according to the food plan she gave me (I saw her at 1 pm yesterday). It feels a lot like a diet in that – to learn what portions look like -- I have to do a lot of weighing and measuring. I hate that. It reminds me of every crazy diet I’ve ever done. But it’s just a week. And desperate times call for desperate measures, even if they involve constantly buying more measuring spoons because I forgot to bring mine out.

(Yes, seriously.)