Today I Met My Goal Weight
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Melancholy? Bittersweet? I don’t have the right word.
Probably because there is no right word.
Today I hit my goal weight. My “minimum safe weight,” as my eating disorder team would say. I remember my psychiatrist sharing the number after a long argument during our first session the second day I went inpatient. Tears filled my eyes, as I sat numb almost in disbelief. It was almost 30 pounds heavier than what I weighed that morning. A weight I had never seen. A weight that seemed daunting.
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I made a pact to myself, walking out of that room that day, that I would never, ever come close to hitting that weight. But somehow I did.
I discharged at 90 percent of my goal weight, hovering at the 88-percent mark for over a week before my number finally shot up, all the while drinking four supplements a day.
Driving home, I laughed, believing that I was indeed right. I would never see the infamous number that flashed through my head like a surge of lightening through every sip of caloric beverage or bite of full-fat food.
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But entering the real world required strength, and though hesitant, I kept my recovery mantra in my head every day: “Do your best.”
I completed meals and drank supplements. I started eating foods that I’d denied myself of for years. I went on a milkshake kick and was convinced I was eating too much.
I began meeting friends for dinner and completing meals even during times of guilt, shame and remorse. I stopped examining myself in the mirror and kept eating despite the tightness of my jeans and the slits in my tights.
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As the number continued to creep up during my weekly visits with my doctor, I began to oblige. It’s as if the DBT (Dialectical Behavior Therapy) gods cast a spell over me, and I wholeheartedly “radically accepted” my new weight.
Today I’m at my goal weight. Am I happy? Not really. Do I love my body? I can’t say I do. Am I proud of my progress? Surprisingly, yes.
Am I cured of anorexia nervosa? Of course not. But today I’m one step closer.
By Mary Geiser
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