Well, as soon as I stepped into my parents' house there was a bagel and cream cheese on my plate. Avoided lunch by napping, and then had to have deep-dish pizza (damn you, Chicago) because that's what was ordered for dinner. And dessert because my mom was just looking at me in that way.
Being home is like a constant war between my two greatest impulses, that of pleasing others and that of avoiding food. Guilt motivates both, but, odd as it is, pleasing others will always win out even if it makes me hate myself for days afterwards. I probably had over 2000 calories today; I feel like hell and I want to cry, but I didn't disappoint anyone. Self-loathing and punishment delayed are acceptable consequences to accommodating others.
God knows I may feel differently next time I step on our scale, but right now I'm trying to rationalize by saying if I can get through these next few days I can fast/restrict like mad next week. Besides, now that my parents have seen me eat (oh lord, how they saw me eat) maybe they'll get off my back and I can actually do better the next few days. Eating at home, I guess, is a game of chess; today I sacrificed my pawn so tomorrow I can move my king out of check.