White toast x 2, butter. (…Marmite on one slice)
Cottage cheese (with pineapple) sandwich (wholemeal), salad.
‘Golden balls’ Muller Corner yoghurt.
‘Oats and Maple’ granola bar.
Sausages, sweet potato mash, mixed vegetables. (a splash of sweet chilli)
Banana split. (with ‘Ben & Jerry’s Utter Peanut Butter Cookie Core’ ice-cream, squirty cream, chopped nuts and chocolate sauce)
…& the usual PINT of semi-skimmed milk.
When I say ‘banana split’… you may, in your right (I did too) imagine a fruity canoe of elegance, parted politely down the middle for it’s passengers of perfectly scooped ping-pong balls. Passengers wearing perky cream hats, to help catch the delicate raining of nuts, as though the value of golden bank notes blowing through the streets of Leeds…
…drizzled in an arty chocolate zig-zag of course.
(one the posh M&S narrator-advert-lady would be proud of)
Who’d have thought even the innocent ol’ banana split had a stereotype?
Pud politices, ey.
Losing my virginity tonight to this American-inspired wonder, (in the mouth area, could we just point that out) I had my art materials lined up. Sculpture of food awaiting. A tasty version of playing with lego, I imagined… the smug satisfaction of seeing all the pieces colourfully fitted together.
Being on an Eating Disorder Unit and all that, we were EVEN given a hand-out on the ‘banana split’. Rules on what you must include, if you choose to self-cater it for your ‘substantial’ pudding of the day. I imagine if you let Anorexia get it’s pedantic way, you could argue eating a banana – split. Not a ‘banana split’, if you get me. A banana cut down the middle with a knife, served in a bowl…
…I’d like to continue this post tomorrow! So I was typing this up just before supper (as I’m now back at the Unit after my 72 hours leave – feel like I’ve just come off my jolly hols, I never expected it to go so well! And a confidence booster in my new independent abilities around food)… until the nurse came to tell me I’m getting weighed tomorrow morning. Instead of Monday. Standard procedure for anyone who’s just returned from ‘reflective leave’.
On an overall, recovery-focused level, this ain’t a ‘Yasmin’ problem. I KNOW I’m aiming for that set-point weight, so rationally there is nothing to fear. There’s logically nothing that can ‘go wrong’. HOWEVER, as I am not mentally prepared (I feel like I’ve been told my Maths exam is tomorrow, instead of Monday – and I haven’t revised) I have a sinking feeling. I know it sounds as daft as a drunken daffodil, but I never choose cereal for supper the day before weigh-day. And I try to avoid bulky-type meals for tea… so now I’m a little rattled by this last-minute headliner. I know having bulkier-type foods in your stomach is not magic, instant ‘fat’ or weight-gain, but I’m scared about the number reflected back at me tomorrow now being amplified (more than it mentally needs to for this recovery) because of what feels like a bigger quantity of food inside me, eaten towards the end of the day that won’t have time to be broken down quick enough before the scales are back under my feet tomorrow. That the number will be larger than what it would be if I chose to have my ‘bigger’ meal at lunch and a different supper choice…
…and it all looks so ridiculous to read back. I know I want weight-gain, and full recovery, but I try to avoid making it feel any more difficult than it needs to be. No unnecessary headaches on the brain, please.
Oh well… just another earthquake vibration to survive.
Back to the banana split chat tomorrow.
Weigh-day on the brain.
Must shimmy to bed to shake this out…