Girl Seeking Peanut Butter

I love peanut butter. I am also anorexic. This makes for a very interesting peanut butter and jelly.

First, I cut it in half–diagonally, not vertically. Next, and this is essential, I peel apart the bread. Here, I must be precise. My hope is that one slice retains all the glorious peanut butter, and the other, the lesser but still respectable jelly. There should be no contamination–no mixing of the spreads. I then take my spoon, scrape the jelly from the bread, and lick the spoon clean. The now bereft slice then gets cut into tiny pieces, and eaten–crust first–with a fork.
Now for the main event. I take the spoon, licked clean of jelly, and gently scrape the peanut butter piece. I eat it in tiny mouthfuls–savouring it as much as torturing myself. I make this last as long as possible.
I eat the last slice of bread slowly, guiltily, with a fork and a knife. I then sit in silence, thinking about what I’ve just done. It was so good, and I hate myself.
I was diagnosed with Anorexia Nervosa, restrictive type, at eighteen. I tried to fight it on my own, but I had no idea what I was up against. It was like trying to fight a fire with spit. No. It was like trying to fight a fire with spit after you’ve eaten a sleeve of saltines. Anorexia was way stronger than anything I had to throw at it. So I went to treatment.
When I got there, I hadn’t eaten peanut butter in maybe eight months. The days of dissecting a PB&J were long gone, as I had started denying myself bread and fat when anorexia shrunk my diet to greek yogurt, plain cheerios, and trident gum.
When I met with the dietitian, she wanted me to eat, for lunch–just one of three meals and three snacks–a peanut butter and jelly with two tablespoons of this lard. Two tablespoons of this delicious, forbidden fat. I was horrified and excited. Mostly horrified. This woman was giving me permission to eat the thing I had been dreaming of for months. I was going to eat peanut butter, because it was going to save my life.
In the kitchen, they had plain, creamy peanut butter. A respectable, logical choice. It would have, no doubt, been deliciously painful to eat. But I didn’t choose it–no no–I chose cinnamon raisin swirl. This peanut butter was not just peanut butter; it was blended with cinnamon and stirred with raisins. It was terrifying, but I was allowed to eat it. I was supposed to eat it. After the first glorious mouthful, I felt teary. I wasn’t sure if it was the fat, or the relief.

Slowly, over the next few months, I realized that I was allowed to have food that tasted this good. Everyday. I was allowed to eat food that felt good to eat–that didn’t feel like punishment. I didn’t have to eat unsalted popcorn for dinner. I could eat peanut butter.
And so I deemed myself, the Girl Seeking Peanut Butter, because I could eat peanut butter. And I could enjoy it.
I could eat it on bread, even.