#ARFID things

[aroundmyscars]

I just meal prepped for two lunches and I feel like a fancy influencer even though they would find the food I eat appalling

[partiallypearl]

the worst part of arfid and getting sick, is that i want to eat but a, none of my comfort foods sound good to me rn, and b, i can’t fricking have most of them bc they aren’t liquid

[saturnsocoolioyep]

In the same vein as "I've been taking my medication for long enough that I haven't experienced any symptoms in a while, I must not need to take it anymore! (Spoiler alert: the meds are why you haven't had symptoms)" I present to you a similarly clownish thought process- "I haven't experienced that trigger in a long time, maybe I was just exaggerating how bad it was and it'll be fine to engage with this! (Spoiler alert: take a fucking guess babes)"

[lachiennearoo]

New cooking show idea:

5-star chefs vs people with ARFID

Should be fun seeing the chefs try to make something great and amazing and then utterly failing because the customers have ARFID and can't enjoy half of the shit they're given lmao

(and please have me as the first customer)

[auteaandtaless]

People judge picky eaters a lot but, as a very picky eater, I’m endlessly frustrated by my limitations. When I vent about this, a lot of people respond with things as “just eat it, it might not be so bad” but I mean it when I say a lot of suggestions I have already tried.

I watch a lot of food videos and they all look so good, a lot of food smells amazing, but then I try it and the texture is a sensory nightmare and there’s too much flavour. I love being autistic but, if I was to change one thing, it would be that.

[steviewashere]

I can't share anything from my steddie holiday exchange fic just yet, but I thought I'd share a snippet from a WIP that I've got right now.

CW: Eddie has Contamination OCD, Eddie has ARFID

———————

He’s biting his tongue. Even as he cuts through the left side of the breast, slow and meticulous. If it’s too messy of a cut, he won’t be able to see the inside. If he can’t see the inside, he can’t judge the color. No say of what the color is, then he isn’t sure about putting it in his mouth.

Steve’s across from him, already dabbing away at sauce on his lips, teeth grinding against each other as he chews. Eddie is still cutting the meat.

“Y’alright?” Steve asks him around his mouthful.

Eddie briefly glances up. “I’m fine,” he shorts. The knife finally makes contact with his plate, screeching against the porcelain. His fork piercing the freed slab, holding it up close to his face, under the light in Steve’s dining room. The only plus side of this house is the lighting, bright and shiny and perfect for Eddie to use. Usually.

He spins the fork.

It’s pink, a part of him notes, it’s still pink don’t put it in your—No, see, it’s white, that same part says, it’s white right there. It’ll be white everywhere, Steve made it.

Steve cuts his own food again, takes another hearty bite.

Eddie turns the fork once more.

But what if it’s just this one piece that’s perfect? What if Steve didn’t cook the rest of it long enough? He audibly takes a deep breath, his chest filling with it, stomach flipping. Eddie scrapes the piece off his fork, knife dictating it to one side of his plate, and he begins to cut up the rest of the chicken.

“Was that piece not”—

“I’m just checking,” Eddie rushes out. His wrists work faster through the next piece. Turning it. Pink. Next piece. Faster. Flipping it. Pinker. He rests his forearms against the table, wrists going limp over his plate, face tilted towards the ceiling as his eyes close and he breathes again.

Distantly, he calculates the rattling of his chair from his leg bouncing. The tick of the clock. Steve’s chewing. And chewing and chewing and—

He picks up the first piece of chicken and inspects it again, cutting it into smaller, more individual chunks.

What if Steve purposefully didn’t cook it right? What if he’s mad at you for something and this is how he shows it? What if he took the only good piece? What if he didn’t wash the turners and the cutting board and the—

“Ed?” Steve calls out to him. “Do you want me to check, baby?”

Eddie minutely shakes his head. Mumbles, “No, I got it. Don’t worry about it.”

Did he wash his hands? What if he didn’t wash his hands before washing the green beans? And the rolls? Did he heat them up in the same pan as the chicken? The mashed potatoes, do they have chicken in them? The chicken is touching your mashed potatoes right now. The pink chicken is touching your fresh mashed potatoes. Keep cutting the chicken, it’s hard to see if it’s white. What if it isn’t white at all? The chicken is touching your mashed—

He chucks the utensils down onto the table. Hands flying up to cover his eyes, fingers tensing into his hairline. His legs jitter under the table, stomach backflipping into his ribcage, mouth drooling like he’s nauseous. The heels of his palms press hard into his eye sockets, hard enough he can’t see anything aside from the brown-black that exists there. And his breaths wheeze out of him, shaky and unsure.

The rolls could be moldy. Did you check to see if they were moldy? What if Steve cut off the moldy parts? Mold rolls and pink chicken, he must be really mad at you. You did something. The chicken is probably touching your mashed potatoes still, don’t eat the potatoes. The potatoes could’ve been moldy, you didn’t see the potatoes Steve used. What if it’s all moldy? Steve is eating it, though. Steve is eating it. Steve is eating the moldy food and the undercooked chicken. Steve is going to get sick. He’s going to get sick. You’re going to get sick. Steve is eating it and eating it and he doesn’t know, he can’t see it like you can. You’re crazy, you’re just being crazy. It’s moldy. All of it is moldy. It’s raw. The chicken is raw and it’s touching your potatoes. They’re touching. Steve is eating it. Steve is eating the chicken. Steve is eating it. He’s going to get sick. You’re dramatic, just crazy. You’re being crazy. He can’t see it like you can. He’s eating it. You’re crazy. Crazy, you’re just—

“I can’t,” Eddie chokes out, words clogged in congestion and sniffles. “‘M sorry, Steve. ‘M sorry, I’m so sorry,” he weeps softly.

———————

[thebitchwitheface]

We as a society need an autism health and fitness guide. I have really strong ARFID and disabilities that are more common when you are also autistic. Having better advice and tips that aren't just "meal prep the fuck outta your life" or "starve" would be nice.

[aropride]

[clarafyer]

Me: Mom I made a revelation

My mom: What is it?

Me: I think I like mashed potatoes now.

My mom: HOLY SHIT.

I am no joke famous in my family for being like the only one who HATES mashed potatoes but that finally changed I guess

They shouldn't have told me there was blu cheese though I stopped eating right after that

[sunnibits]

loving reminder as someone who struggles with food: you are allowed to add joy to your food. you are allowed to add a little joy even if it’s a tiny thing, something silly or something weird. you are allowed to do it whenever you want, as many times as you want. anything that makes food easier and more enjoyable for you is worth it!! it’s your food, you can decide what to do with it!! you can add rainbow sprinkles to your ice cream. you can cut your food into little heart shapes. you can pack your snacks into cute little bento boxes. it is not pointless or childish, it is an effective and active coping tool that you are allowed to use.

give yourself a little joy. the little things add up.

[lacedwithfemtanyl]

me after getting up too fast ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

[sideblogformentalhealtshit]

The most ??? experience is when you struggle your whole life with something you don't know the name of and nobody else does it and you feel all weird and outcast and Othered by it, and then you find out what it's called and start finding out about other people's experiences with it... only to find out that, compared to them, what you have is actually mild in comparison. So then it's like. You're too weird for "normal" people but too normal to feel like you really fit in&belong with the more "weird" ones.

[intersexcat-tboy]

Me, solemnly: ensure changed their prices again 😔

My dad: ensure they did

[jess-total-mess]

for a lot of people, making food is a labour of love. my grandparents were all like that (admittedly for some of them it was also growing up with ww2 rationing), and my aunt is like that and many of my friends parents are like that

and i recognise that. and it feels awful to step into the dinning room and see a food ready that you know isn’t compatible with you, because im being fed. someone made that. it cost time and money and expertise. i want to partake in the ritual

it sucks, to tell your friends parents as a kid that you ate before you came, no, really! you’re not that hungry! FUCK my mom literally used to CALL in advance when i went to friends houses and tell them “if you have a meal, it has to be [something on list]”

have you ever sat at your aunts table and had her give you more then you know you’ll eat despite your protests and be told “you need to eat more” or picked through halloween candy to remove what you won’t eat and be left with less then half of what you started with or partake in cooking class at school and giving your portion away because no matter how hungry you are, it’s not happening?

its isolating.

its staring at your body in the mirror before you shower, and wondering how long it’ll last. its being cold no matter what and any time you feel ill being told “you need to eat more”. its wanting more then anything for there to be a pill you take that replaces a full meal. its knowing, perfectly rationally, that you need food. and knowing, irrationally and rationally, that it’s not going to happen.

[ibetittering]

Just realized my mom MIGHT'VE been a bit abusive

[which-qsmp-egg-would]

which egg is the pickiest eater?