I feel them breathing down my neck, watching while I pick this over that. I suppose I'll never be above suspicion, never to be trusted with food again. I tell them I'm trying to make 'healthy' choices, I'm trying to get 'in shape'. Not that I'm lying it's just that under all that calories are looming, counted and collected off to one side before they're chipped away at through ritual exercise. 

We always knew though that I'd never really get too far from this habit. I haven't thrown up more than twice this whole year though. I'm proud of that but we don't talk about it. Fasting and restricting, well that's only been periodically, nothing serious. The notion though, that's constant. Every morning, every night numbers tip toe across my eyelids. I could think of less numbers if I ate less of them, I could sleep better with less numbers in my head. 

This last month though, it's been strange. Not quite what I was but not quite far off. I haven't imposed any limits but they're there. 1'000 a day is acceptable but I rarely make it there. 700 might be an average but I'm never really happy unless it's dipped below 500. I like the way my jeans fit now but there's still clothes in the corners of my closet that I want to fit again. 

I really wanted to do this the right way. I researched BMR's and muscle groups, made a plan that slipped between my fingers to leave only half it's contents still within my grasp. I had this idea about abs and gluts and biceps. I wanted it to happen but when breakfast became poached eggs and dinner came with heaped sides of vegetables I started to reminisce on a time when I could make do with a pot of yoghurt and some strawberries, when weight just dripped off. I started thinking if I could just live like that a little while, lose the excess, I could start being healthy after the fact. 

Maybe it'll work out that way after all or maybe this is just another periodic phase. I'm not so sure though, I can feel a familiar resolution in my bones. The way I linger in food aisles to read labels is eerie. Tears welling in my eyes when I can't find a particular item, the panic that follows. It's same old, same old. The longer this goes on unaddressed the more stuck I become.