Fear of Christmas

I don't know how to tackle Christmas, I have no idea. If I'm as far gone as I think I'll be, I'd probably just sit in a corner and drink tea and refuse to eat anything. I do feel for my parents, I really do, but it's my life and it's my choice to not want to recover. They can't force feed me, even if they try. And oh boy if they do... I'll be denouncing them as my parents.

Or close to at least. I'd fucking take my bags and walk home if it's so a thundering blizzard outside and in the middle of the night and wouldn't pick up the phone for a long time after. I would so not tolerate that from them. So not and not ever. If they do and somewhat succeed I'll just go and lock myself in the bathroom and purge it all. Because if that happens, they've lost my respect.

I honestly don't know what they could be capable of. As a child they sometimes did threaten with it if it was something about the food that I didn't like or whatever. I can still hear my father's untranslatable words echo in my head that day I must have refused food for some reason. I don't know if he really meant what he said, but it frightened me and somehow it still does, or again rather.

That if I again, 20 or so years later, refuse food, what would he possibly do? Am I scared of my father for absolutely no reason? In general I mean. Cause I do think we have some kind of really odd tension between us that's like always been there no matter what I've tried to do about it. All the time he's had a hard time with my transition, and I've been scared. Not that he would hurt me, but that he wouldn't love me.

And all his anger outbursts have always scared me too, even though I get angry the exact same way. His silence otherwise has always scared me too. That he has so little to say to me, it's like most of the few things he's ever told me has gone through my mother. And then random threats like that about the eating that to me seem to have come out of nowhere. I know he likes me and accepts me, maybe even loves me too, but he's just giving me the creeps all the damn time and I can't understand why.

And back to my problem about Christmas, he will of course be doing all the cooking. I always hate to say no to his food, it feels like I've always been the only one among my family members who actually really enjoys his food. My mother being demi-vegitarian and my sister just extremely picky. And then I come with a full blown eating disorder and just ruin everything. Me. The only one who never once complained about his cooking. I do feel awful for that and it just puts me in this tight little corner and I can't fucking breathe.

I will have no one to support me, no one to understand me. I've been thinking about just skipping Christmas altogether, but then I don't want to, not really. It's always been my favourite holiday with the low key family party that goes on until New Years Day. All the good food, sweets, the atmosphere, what's on TV and the tree and everything. It's never been about religion, or about the presents, it's like everything else. And it feels like I won't be able to enjoy it anymore.

I just have to vent all these thoughts cramming in my head, and the images, heartbreaking images flickering through my mind. It's hell, just trying to figure this out and it's more than 2 months left. And my family doesn't even know that I've relapsed... it's all too much on my shattering heart. Cause sure it's easy to restrict at home in my own apartment where no one sees me, it's easy to avoid food in school, I can rant and obsess and no one will ever notice. But if I go there, to visit my family, all my secrets will be on the table cause I just cannot for the life of me hide it from them.

First of all because I have no idea how to, secondly because I don't think it's right. Sure I could hide the food in napkins and pockets or whatever, and purge it silently when I think no one is around to notice, but it just wouldn't work. They're smart as fuck and they know I've been down this road before. They know the signs, and me weighing less than 50 kg would be a pretty obvious sign.

I wish I could live on my own terms fully and completely, but I do still have a wonderful family and it just breaks my heart all over again. To let them see me suffer worse than ever before, so completely consumed by my eating disorder, just a few kilos away from a full fledged anorexia diagnosis, or already fucking there. It does break my heart, to let them see me like that.

And yes, of course it's still my choice to not recover, to use my eating disorder as a suicide attempt, but somehow, in my fucked up mind, I think it also reaches beyond that. It's one of those concepts which I cannot fully grasp. Fate lies entangled with choice. What choice do I really have when it comes to fate?

I cannot let this go, and I have a sensation that I only made it worse by venting this time. I got more anxiety instead of less, as new angles of the problem came up while I was writing. I need to sleep on it, many many nights. I need to keep thinking about it until I can come up with any kind of solution, whatever it may be. As the time draws more near, I should at least talk it out with my mother before I start packing my bags. She might not understand, she probably won't, but at least I could give her a fair warning. I think that's the least I can do.