Ice

Outside, the snow -- frozen into sheets of ice -- glistens in the sun.  Everything here has stopped -- we are not used to such things in the deep south.  I've used this time to hermit in a rather sloth-like sort of way; I am somewhat reluctant to engage in the ridiculous frenetic exercise that normally fills my days, because Big (my husband) is here with me.  I don't know if it would matter, though.  My thoughts and feelings about food and weight are not on his radar.  He's seen all the evidence and we've even talked about it, in small, truncated, awkward conversations.  It's not something he likes and it's not something he understands, and so, in his world, it doesn't exist.

I thought I had a limitless capacity for denial, but I'm nothing compared to him.

Of course, this is a mixed blessing.  I like being left to my own devices....I like that I can skip meals, engage in bizarre rituals of preparing food and eating, etc.. I like that I can embrace ana -- hell, she practically has her own room, her own key to the house, she could get mail here -- and there is no one to police me.  I am free to do whatever I want.

The only thing is, I often wonder:  what would it take for him to see that I am hurting, that I am scared, that I sometimes feel that I am one step away from losing my tenuous grasp on the few marbles I have?

I've told him, in the most direct way I can.  That didn't work.  We went to counseling together.  That didn't work.

I wonder how small I would have to get before he would see me.

Really see.