I hate this illness

The start of week 2 on my parent’s sofa…

The weekend was tough, but I feel a little better today.  For the first time in a while I have a bit of energy, so I went for a walk.

I went to Asda and walked up each aisle, admiring the food.  Endless boxes of Christmas biscuits, huge bars of chocolate, the smell of freshly baked bread wafting over everything.  The displays of food are a piece of art, evoking powerful emotions in my starved brain.  I feel nostalgia, I feel pain, I feel longing.

I reach out, pick up my favourite foods. I turn the packet over in my hands, run my fingers over it’s surface.  I can feel the memories, the joy, my care-free past.  And then I see it.  The calorie count.  I smile sadly and put it back on the shelf, wondering how I ever managed to eat without a care in the world.

What I would give to eat like that again.

I could just buy it.

Take it home.

Sit alone in front of the TV, devour it and savour every moment.

But I know I can’t.

The mental anguish afterwards would be too much.

I hate this illness.