Small Plates

I lost my appetite, which is surprisingly odd, considering my history of binge eating disorder.  Feeding myself has become a chore.  I don’t want to cook.  Nothing sounds good.  I’m like a child again, pushing peas around the plate.

I’ve been logging food, writing down what and when I eat, per suggestion of my therapist, trying to put myself on a schedule of semi-nutritional meals. There were too many days of waiting until I felt like I was going to pass out if I didn’t eat something; too many days of eating nothing but variations of toast.

I get tired of writing things down, so I snapped of photo.

Today’s meal was a roasted chicken thigh (meat pulled from bones) with a potato and fresh mushrooms topped with a dollop of sour cream and a sprinkle of chives, served on a little 6″ plate.

Most of my meals are on small plates now.  That’s ye about all I can eat.  It feels weird to struggle with the last bites. Everything is weird.  I’m weird right now.

I bitched out my best friend, or who I thought of as my best friend, when she showed up on my payday wanting to borrow money. Told her no, I’m already out of my comfort zone and she’s in over her head already, done blown me off twice with fucked up stories, so why would I loan her more?  I offered her a job two weeks ago, help me paint the porch, work off the debt, got to eliminate money from our friendship. Yeah sure, she planned on helping me anyway.

The can of paint still sits.

I ended giving her five for her gas tank so she could get to work on her own payday.  She came back later, begging, will I please give her a little more so she can get something to feed the kids?  She’ll pay me back Friday, we’ll go out to lunch, celebrate my birthday… and I haven’t seen her since.

Well, that doesn’t surprise me.

Sad thing is… I really liked her, she was my friend and now I think she was all pretend just so she could use me like an ATM.