Experiments In Therapy

You say that you are going to try a different approach in regards to my therapy. "Like an experiment,?" I laugh nervously and look down at my hands, feeling somewhat ashamed. "I'm not doing it right," I think to myself. "I'm finished asking you about how you are doing with food," you explain. "It seems that you have made up your mind to stay where you are, so instead I would rather we talk about the function of the eating disorder and what you are getting out of it." I stare at the herringbone pattern on the couch until all of the lines blur together, afraid to look up, feeling as if I'm about to fail an important test. I will try to convince you, but you will twist my words until they are senseless even to me, but still, yes, I will try to help you understand.
"I need to have control over my body..." NEED. CONTROL. MY BODY. MINE. When you say that it's not me in control, but the eating disorder, I want to scream, "I know that!" Whether it is an illusion or not, all that matters is how I FEEL. I feel like I'm in control, and how I feel dictates what I believe. I get to feel powerful for once. No one can take that away. Once I tell you these things, you nod your head and change the subject, asking me how my kids are. Strangely I don't feel unheard because your eyes never once left mine. We spend the last ten minutes on small talk, and I'm confused about this new approach. Maybe you are having to take your time and process what I said instead of the other way around. Maybe you are carefully weighing your words, dancing around my insanity. I have so much more that I want to tell you, and maybe that is the method to your madness. Talking about food only led to a lot of empty silence. How much can you say about nothing? I actually think I'm going to like this change. I'll let you know for sure next week;-)