Supervised eating.

Before he went out of town, my boyfriend got someone to come and stay with me to cook and make sure I eat. I know I'm sick. I know it's for my own good. I definitely know I can't argue with this woman while she's here (she's been so kind and friendly).

I am at once incredibly grateful to have the support, deeply frustrated that I need it, and abysmally dysphoric about how gross my body feels after dinner tonight, even though it was a realistic meal.

I miss having agency, but I understand that I lost it for a good reason.