I have not weighed myself, or been told my weight by a doctor in months. And part of me is dying with curiosity to know. But I know that part of me that wants to know so badly is not me, but my eating disorder. A devil and an angel are on my shoulders. The devil is my eating disorder, he tells me would it really be so bad if you knew your weight? Everybody weighs themselves, it is a normal thing to do. Why else would they sell scales at Bed Bath and Beyond, they certainly aren’t for decorating? Sometimes, like me, ED will use humor to lighten a situation, but he’s not fooling me this time.
However even me and my authentic self whose been working hard at recovery each and everyday is curious about the number I would see on the scale if I were to step on it. I’ve come a long way, maybe I’m mature enough to see the number. But do I really want to risk it? I know if I step on that scale my worth, my happiness, my integrity would suddenly seem dependent on the number. I’d blame the number for the stress I’ve been feeling, or I’d praise the number feeling grateful for the happiness it has bestowed upon me. Either way the number would disconnect myself from my body once again.
Besides, what would knowing the number really do? A number is a number. And I know if I weighed myself I’d suddenly get attached with that number, my every waking moment would become consumed with protecting and monitoring, my worth once again connected to the weight of my body.
*Featured Image: Still Life With Apples, Paul Cézanne (1894)