And Sometimes it Doesn’t

I love my grandmother to death.  I really do.  She can do no wrong in my eyes.  But I’m starting to realize she has had a bigger impact on my life than I had originally thought.  Of course she influenced my growing up.  I’m not saying that.  I guess, it’s more along the lines of the eating disorder.

In all my years of therapy and treatment, I never really could figure out why my eating disorder started.  There was the naturally anxious child that I was and the trauma.  And I was probably predisposed to have an eating disorder, but I think my grandmother had more to do with it that I ever cared to realize before.  (I hate how therapy can encourage you to make connections where you never had before.)

My grandmother is going on about how she needs to lose weight.  She’s always been a slender woman, but I can remember her saying that she weighed too much.  She was always a healthy eater.  I love fruits and veggies because of her.  But I can see how it’s slightly disordered.  She’s tiny right now, but still thinks she needs to lose weight.  I don’t understand how she could think that because she’s basically bones now.

As a grandmother, she always asks if I’m eating okay.  And I tell her yes, as to not make her worry.  Both her and my dad have mentioned my weight.  And how I was the biggest (translation: fattest) I’ve ever been at my wedding.  My grandmother always asks if I’ve lost weight; that I need to be healthy.  Then last night, she asked what I ate.  I told her and she asked me why I wasn’t losing weight.  How can I tell her that I’ve screwed up my body so much that I just can’t unless it’s drastic?

I want to make her happy.  I would love to lose this excess weight, not only for me, but her.

I wish I didn’t have these thoughts in my head.

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