Diamond is Forever

It’s like those moments when I realize I have an abnormal relationship with food, and then those moments half an hour later when I realise I’m just over dramatic and there is nothing abnormal about it. It’s those moments when I glance at myself in the mirror and realize the number of bones visible might be too many, and then then 45 seconds later, if I’m still looking in the mirror I find the disgusting fat on my thighs and my upper arms and decide that the combination of ribs and huge hips makes me look like some kind of repulsive alien.

Those times I remember what I was like as a young teenager, refusing to leave the house unless I’m wearing two pairs of control-top pantyhose so that my legs do not touch at the top and no one will find out about the huge hippo I’m hiding under these clothes. I’d log my weight and skip two meals a day, adamant that 90 was an unacceptable weight for me, although I’d never ever think it was too high for anyone else. I was fascinated by pro-anorexia websites with a detached attitude and was worried about those girls.

Fasting for eight days "for health" and loving it. Knowing it’s something I’ll attempt again. Flashbacks to not long ago of going on rampages through the kitchen and throwing out anything that contained more than 300 calories. The fact that I can not have sex if I have eaten more than the size of my fist that day.

It’s the moments that I know we’re happier now but I can’t trust him still. The moments I know that even though I want to hide things I don’t believe he should be able to.

It’s those moments in the middle of planning a wedding when I wonder if I’m more excited for the combinations of colors and textures I’m putting together for the reception, or the marriage. It’s pausing between creating a wedding playlist, to compulsively check his browsing history and feeling extremely uneasy that it’s been erased.

It’s the moment I know that absolutely nothing has changed, and it’s the very next moment when I forget.