Counting

Written August 14, 2017:

        Why was I always counting. My entire world a math problem, solution always just out of reach. Just another pound away, another bone exposed, so close and presumably too far to accomplish anything. Counting how many meals I had today, counting down the hours until I could trick myself into eating again. I was always waiting for something to happen, for something to change. But nothing ever did. Not for the better, at least.

        It was only until the doctor counted the beats of my heart, few and far between, counted the minutes as my body slowed down, the months passing since my last period, that I realized it needed to stop. for me, counting is killing. This is a habit that must be broken. But it is easier said than done.

        I had two pieces of pizza tonight, one scoop of ice creme. Four slices of a nectarine. What does it add up too? Nothing. I must start over.