Umm… an eating disorder, maybe?

“Hello, Health Services.”

“Hi, I’d like to make an appointment with Dr. X?”

“And what is this regarding?” (is what I imagine she said, but I don’t recall the exact words)

“Umm… an eating disorder, maybe?”

It felt really weird to say that. Partly because I’m pretty sure it’s not an eating disorder — at least not the way it’s usually defined — but it’s the closest thing I can think to call it. But it was strange to say it to someone who isn’t my parents. When the receptionist looked for a time to book me in, she had trouble finding a twenty minute slot, since those kind of appointments usually take a little longer, she said. Which means, well, one, it takes longer, which, well… I don’t know why. But two, “those kind” of appointments happen, well, more than just this once. Which, well, of course, obviously. But this appointment is not going to be, “I hate myself because I’m fat”, it’s going to be, “I hate myself because I’m lazy and skinny.”

“Umm… an eating disorder, maybe?” was kind like of my, “Hi, I’m Jenny, and I’m an alcoholic.” That’s a bit how I imagine it would feel to say that if I were an alcoholic. Admitting it to a stranger. Interesting feeling.

Here’s the deal. I’m not taking care of myself. I don’t eat. When I do eat, I don’t eat enough. Even if I did eat enough, it’s not healthy food. I don’t exercise. I can’t relax. I don’t have anyone to talk to about this. I wait until I’m too weak to stand up, until I have pains in my stomach, before I start to even think about making food, but by that time, I physically can’t do it.

I need someone to do it for me, or someone to make me do it. Doing it myself has not worked. I am not being responsible for myself.

I need to go to a hospital.

I think.

I mean, is there a BMI requirement to going to an eating disorder rehab clinic? Do I have to need a feeding tube to get in there? I don’t know if I’m the worst I can be, or if I even have to be the worst I can be to get in a place like that.