How did I exist on a functional level before I started drinking coffee (at 12 years old, mind you)? My 24 oz. coffee mug is essentially an extension of my hand. Another appendage, if you will. My mug is now what I consider "a cup" of coffee. And it is the staple of my diet.Seriously.
(Don't worry, I add protein powder in the morning, and sometimes in the evening too!)
Combine this with 37mg of Adderall per day and I can be rather functional and productive most days.
"What have you eaten today?" she asks me.
I roll my eyes. Here we go again.
"Coffee." I respond, as usual.
And as usual, her response is, "Coffee is NOT a food."
I fake shock at this absurd suggestion, throwing my hand to my chest, fingers spread, eyes wide and mouth falling open.
She briefly smiles, then regains her professional aire and continues. "You already know this, so I won't repeat myself again."
"Then I guess I forgot to eat today." I reply, knowing full-well that she will not accept this answer.
And then we change the subject to something a bit less controversial. At least for this week.
9 years of outpatient therapy, 6 months in residential treatment, 2 weeks in hospital for organ failure and emergency surgery, and a total of nearly 19 years wasted. And I'm still caught in the grips of this anorexic hell.
And all because the number on the scale was never quite low enough.
Sometimes I wonder if it ever will be.
