As a kid, I thought nothing of putting butter on my toast in a morning. I thought nothing of making a sandwich with butter and peanut butter. (By the way…or.gas.mic.) I thought nothing of butter because it was a normal part of everyday life, like breathing or arguing hysterically with my little sister over who got to sit up front in the car.
As a kid I had never encountered the word ‘calorie,’ nor did I look at my body, cringe and want to slice parts of it off. Until I became a teenager, that is. Then everything changed and anorexia’s reign of terror began. Suddenly I was aware of how many calories were in a knife slather of butter and just how dangerous these calories were. So, practically overnight I abandoned butter and it stayed absent from my life for more than twelve years.
It was last year when I once again started buttering up my sandwiches at lunchtime, and since then have done so on most days. This might sound pathetic to people who have never had an eating disorder, but believe me, its a mighty big deal.
Something happened the other day which reinforced my healthy attitude to food. I was munching on a pack of those Belvita breakfast biscuits and I thought ‘this would taste mighty fine with some butter…’ (I think this goes back to when I was a kid and we used to sometimes put butter on digestive biscuits, again something you have to try) and so I trotted down to the kitchen and applied some Flora. Lo and behold, it did taste good, fucking delicious in fact. Afterwards I happily went on my way, feeling somewhat smug and very satisfied that I had done what I had set out to do and enjoyed it, all without internal pressure from negative thoughts.