The Meal

Once a year the powers that be up at Oxfam HQ treat their long suffering volunteers to a ‘thank-you’ meal budgeted at £20 per head.
This year, ours was to be at the Italian restaurant in Epsom high street – so far so good.

I was 9 years old when I was first hospitalised for my weight, at 11 I was officially diagnosed with an eating disorder.
The doctor told my mother and I, as we sat in his sterile office, that food would always be an “issue” for me, but that I would probably “manage”.
Self-fulfilling or not, his predictions have been spookily accurate.

Myth no.1:- “it’s just food”. Fact:- it is never just food.
It is being given a strange dog to live in your home. The dog is a pit bull and it’s rabid.
And you have to walk it 3 times a day, everyday, for the rest of your life.
But the leash is on fire and you’re on fire, and everything is on fire, while people stare and throw stones and your parents turn away because you’re an embarrassment.
But you manage.

Myth no.2:- “it’s only one bite”. Fact:- it is never only one bite.
It is the first molecular shift, sparking a cascade, triggering a flood, causing an avalanche that threatens to engulf you, 3 times a day, everyday, for the rest of your life.
But you manage.

The week before the Oxfam meal, I downloaded the menu and poured over it relentlessly. Checking and re-checking the ingredients, calories, allergens, combinations and cost.
I could pay extra if I went over the £20 budget, but damned if I was going to fund my own suffering.

Myth no.3:- “if you loved me, you’d eat”. Fact:- it is never about love.
It is a desperate and visceral fight for survival 3 times a day, every day, for the rest of your life.
But you manage.

I didn’t have to go to the meal but I wanted to try because avoidance, although seductive, is no fun.
So yes, I did go, I did eat and I did have some moments of fun.
And yes, I managed.

Shelley, member of our Creative Writing Group