Raw Food Journal Entry #51

September 3, 2011

I traveled up north with my friends this past weekend. I made sure to bring a bag of bananas and apples to eat because I was sure that my friend’s parents wouldn’t have enough.
“We have fruit here for you,” her dad said laughing as he eyed my large bag of bananas when we arrived late last night. I would run through your fruit in a heartbeat, I thought as I munched on my third banana. The rest of the girls ate cookies and brownies that my friend’s mom had baked for us. “No cookies?” she asked me.
I wanted the cookies—bad. But I had to stick with my regimen. I can’t gain more weight.
This morning I gave in to the eggs her dad scrambled for us. I also had a slice of potato or two. But I made sure to eat my bananas. I tried to stick with my fruit.

409285_10150477676855415_517045414_8935707_1164110439_n (1)

When lunch came I had no desire for any type of food. But I felt pressured to eat; I’ve always felt the pressure to eat, scared that my friends would think I am weird with food or something. I hate eating in front of people but I feel like I have to.
I was horrified as my friend and her mom pulled out pizza-size pita bread—and only half of the pita bread was 180 calories, as I saw when I turned over the package. Dread and fear filled me. I did not want to eat this. I could not eat this. I could not enjoy it.
But I ate with my friends anyway. While everyone loaded their pita saucers with hummus and lettuce and this dressing filled with cheese I kept it to just a little lettuce and hummus.
“You’re a picky eater,” her mom commented when I refused the dressing concoction. A rush of anger boiled within me. No, I’m a healthy eater, I thought. No one had ever called me “picky” before. I had always loved all sorts of food; I was always willing to try anything. If only she knew the detriments of eating cheese…
My mind didn’t want the food, and my body definitely didn’t. But I stuffed myself. I had never felt so awful about a meal, so utterly disgusted. I have never felt bigger in my life. I could feel the fat latching onto my body already. I could feel it on my thighs, on my stomach, bulging around my waist.
And worse yet we had to change into our bathing suits to climb in the waterfalls.

381303_10150477742330415_517045414_8936128_334889536_n 388440_10150477776650415_517045414_8936209_1611520284_n 389986_10150477800340415_517045414_8936295_569808432_n

As we rowed over to the island of waterfalls I thought about the calories, about what I was doing to my body, about what my friends must be thinking after all the food I had been eating. I didn’t go into the waterfall with them because I felt uncomfortable and sick to my stomach and full of guilt—the greatest guilt I have ever experienced with food.
Tonight I binged on brownies—warm, hot, delicious brownies doused in chocolate syrup. I told my friends I was celebrating my birthday (which is tomorrow), but as I drowned the brownies in chocolate syrup I drowned myself in my sorrow. They thought I enjoyed this torture on myself, this feast of anger and guilt and lack of control. I felt like I couldn’t stop myself; I laughed it off, told them this was my birthday celebration, that I deserved it.
I do not advocate nor do I completely dismiss the raw food diet but I do encourage you to stay with me through these past journal entries (please note the date in bold verses the post date) until the end to decide for yourself what you think would be best for you as pertaining to diet if you feel the need to change in any way. Please understand that I went into the raw food diet with some wrong intentions. Learn from my mistakes before making your own.

About Rachael

Rachael Steil is a graduate from Aquinas College in Grand Rapids, Michigan with a Bachelor of Arts. Steil an author, speaker, and a recipient of the Spirit and Outstanding Runner award for the Aquinas College cross country team and has received 6th place All-American accolades in cross country as well as 7th place in the NAIA track nationals.
This entry was posted in Raw Food Journal Entries and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.