As someone whom I've decided must have integrity, I tend to carry a lot of guilt. Things that I know are wrong, I basically don't do. I mean big things. I do on occasion throw away a recyclable or wear brown shoes with a black belt or dye my hair before the recommended 6 week limit. But the big bad things I don't do. And for others, I do big good things.
But for me? I never do THE big good thing. I am not a healthy machine.
As someone who enjoys a drink, I have often seen the "Are you sure you're not an alcoholic?" question run through my head. The answer is Yes, I'm sure. There is an addiction that far surpasses my interest in alcohol, and that is food. I have a codependent relationship with my fridge, and I cannot identify the flash point of the affair.
There is no purging going on, for those who might be concerned about that, and it's not a case of driving through McDonald's and ordering food for four and then parking and eating and crying. Of course, I mean no disrespect to those out there who are tormented by food to that extent. I don't know how they feel, but I often think that the two experiences are not all that different.
I'm a sneaker. I've discovered how to eat without thinking, so I really never have to take responsibility for the total intake. I sneak from myself and others. At restaurants, I look at the menu to find the most indulgent, largest portioned meal that I feel I can order without causing questionable looks from my dining partners. It's a game or a challenge. It's a desperation to get something that I'll never feel like I have... whatever it is...
I'm not sure why I've felt compelled to write about this in particular today. It has something to do with eating while feeling guilty about not blogging. Seriously, a stressor as small as knowing that I haven't blogged in a few days can be the thing that makes me refill my bowl of chocolate chips, which is the perfect solution to avoiding a task you've already avoided too long (many small bites, many trips to the mouth, it takes a long time, it's a process-- you can see how smoking fit so nicely). So I am breaking the silence with a confession. I have eaten because I have not kept up my bargain with you fine people to whom I love to reach out. That is not okay. I want ours to be a healthy relationship. I want to forgive myself for missing a week or two of posting.
I haven't posted because I don't find myself particularly interesting right now. I've lost track of my personal identity over the last week or two. I've done some cool stuff, for sure, and as Senor has requested, I will write a post my thoughts about the Lindsey Buckingham concert soon. I've knitted some cool stuff, too. I've seen a few friends. Nothing has been bad, but I feel as though I am operating in Survival Mode-- just get through this day, tomorrow will be better. And it's not the activities or the people or the relationships that need to be better. You are all doing very well by me. It's me that needs to get better.
I heard somewhere that food is like a friend. For some it is a good friend, one who nourishes them and gives them energy and makes them feel good. Not for me. For me it a friend who punishes me and drags me down and insults me and makes me hate it and need it at the same time. To me, food is that friend that makes you forget why you liked them in the first place. I have people-friends like this, too. I am sure that an expensive private practice therapist could tell me the connection. But I wish that I could figure it out for myself. I don't feel that I'll be able to break my habits without an answer to this question, at least not for very long.
I'm so tired, people. I've been in bed with this thought pattern for so long that I don't even know how to end this post. I don't know if I'm asking for help or advice or just understanding or a clean conscience or a person who knows how this feels... Or just to get it outside myself. To make it not a secret anymore.
I do promise this: My next post will not be such a downer. But sometimes you just have to admit that you're human. I pretend not to be human, like I am above all that humanity crap. I don't need to pretend, though, right? You're all human, too, right? Flaws and all, there shouldn't be any need to be better than human, and yet it seems to be expected of us all.
It's hard to feel like the only one.