arjai101 asks: I went to a family reunion that was triggering. I finally finally get what people mean by “triggering” in the non-ironic sense of the word. But it wasn’t the family that did it. That was fine. It was the food. I was actually doing pretty fine with everything. But as the reunion wore on, I worried more and more. And then I started eating more, and making myself throw it up. Now, I can’t personally speak for everyone. But, the thing about making yourself throw up is that moment right before you get started and you’re staring down into the toilet is one of the worst parts. No matter how stuffed you feel or how determined you are, you will never want to do it less than in that very moment. When you march off to the bathroom, it seems like the best idea. When you’re in the midst of it, it’s uncomfortable but not that bad. And when you finish, most of the time, you don’t feel all that bad, it varies. Sometimes, you feel shame, sometimes like God, sometimes like I deserve this. Either way, you walk out there head held high, shoulders tilted back, sip your diet coke like nothing ever happened. Just like you taught yourself when you were little, convince people you were untouchable, invincible. Make them love you or make them hate you because they weren’t you. But, I guess I was never really invincible or untouchable from my own doing, which is the ironic thing about it all. Anyhow, this time I was coughing a lot, and I felt every single thing leaving my body in grave detail. Yet, I still just kept jabbing and jabbing down my throat. Cause, I knew I just had to fix it. I just had to fix everything I’d ever done and ever was. The bathroom was empty. But at one point, one of the little cousins roamed in and used the bathroom and God; I felt like such a loser hovered over the toilet clutching my stomach waiting in silence for her to leave. I said to myself, this is the last time. This is it. I can’t do this anymore. And you know what I did, the literal next day? The same exact thing. I can look at a plate and calculate the calories, the grams of protein, the grams of carbs. Tell me your weight, age, height, and activity level. I can probably give you your Basal Metabolic Rate. I can tell you how long it takes for you to deplete glycogen stores. I can tell you what percentage of your calories we’re used up in thermogenesis based on their macronutrient group. I can debate the intuitive eating lifestyle vs. chronic diet culture. Etc etc. etc. I’ve become quite the nutrition and fitness savant. And also, a complete neurotic bore to talk to most of the time. I’m trying to pinpoint why I’ve become so obsessive about it lately. I feel like I’ve really been disappointing everyone in my life on the down low for years. Or that, eventually, I will. Honestly, I don’t know. I just wish I could make it stop. I wish I could it make it all stop. This is going to sound cheesy. But sometimes, I wonder if being loved by someone you didn’t lie to in the slightest way about who you are makes it stop, at least for the briefest of moments. But that’s a dangerous and indefinite way of making it stop, waiting for some girl to “save” you. Nope, I’m just going to have to get together and eat like a normal freaking person. I was doing fine before. And now I know, what triggers it. And I, just have to think ahead and prepare. Addendum: It’s about six days later, and I’m doing great. I think. Think, I finally started getting into a pattern that works for me. And I guess, I’m just excited for the future. To leave it all behind, you know. I really am a blast most other times.