Feed me, Seymour. Feed Me

I am a binge eater. Whenever I’m stressed out, I eat. Obviously, I’ve been going non stop for a while. I just keep thinking about that sketch in Monty Python’s meaning of life.

Yeah…that one. That could be me. 

Sometimes it’s easier to be fat than to face the cold hard truth. Fat is a layer of protection. It’s a way of weeding folks out, seeing if they want the “real” me. It’s easier to say you were rejected because you’re fat than…just cuz. It’s not me babe, it’s you. 

Fat, however, is fatal. It’s going to kill me. If I don’t make changes, im going to die. It may be a heart attack, stroke or diabetic related complications, but something will happen. I can’t keep going on like this and not expect issues to arise.

I used to think I was powerless over a binge, but I’m learning that’s not the case. I’m struggling with an emotional response to external circumstances. I’m struggling with feelings of low self worth, shame, guilt and overall crappiness. I feel like I don’t deserve any of the goodness that comes into my life because I’m a loser/psycho/bitch/fat/fill in the label here. Something happens, my warped emotions kick in and then bam! I’m off eating.

I don’t sit down and eat until I’m sick, however. I did that when I lived alone. Now that there are others around me, I’m creative. I eat all day long at work. I have high calorie desserts after dinner. I love my hot fudge sundaes. Bring on the salt sugar combo, because I just can’t get enough of that baby. 

I eat in hopes of numbing the pain. It’s really no different than any other addiction, I suppose. It fills the soul hole in me, quick, easy, down & dirty. I don’t want to feel anything and food does that for me. There’s the glorious high, especially when it’s a favorite food. I could eat pounds of pasta in one sitting. Or a whole chocolate cake or pecan pie. Or countless trips up to the china buffet. Or a Big Mac and fries with chicken nuggets and a chocolate shake. Or California rolls. Or oysters on the half shell. Or all of the above.

In college, I learned to purge after binging . That way you didn’t gain weight. I could have my cake, eat it too and never gain an ounce. It was glorious, except it ruined my teeth. Then I became sensitive about them (you never see me smile open mouthed.) even though I got them fixed, I was told by someone I thought was special that they grossed them out and they didn’t like to kiss me because of it. Thanks for the ego boost (and the resulting binge)!

I have to find other coping mechanisms rather than eating. It’s obviously not working for me, I’m gaining weight and still not plugging my soul holes. The big girl thing to do is just face the reality that I’m trying to avoid.

I’m on my own. Sure I have “friends” but when the shit hits the fan, it’s just me I can rely on. And my kid, because he knows when I’m down I could always use a hug or a dragon fruit vitamin water. I have to figure out how to handle all this on my own. 

You can’t force someone to change their mind. Once the die is cast…well, that’s it. You just need to learn to live with it. It’s hard, it sucks and it breaks my heart on a daily basis, but one day I hope to wake up and the pain won’t hurt as much. I don’t think it will ever go away, but I just want it to hurt less. 

I know my life won’t have anything in common with most other people. My son is too autistic for normal people, not autistic enough to have a common ground with the special needs community. I don’t have a normal family relationship. (See #1-all by myself). It’s hard to make friends when you’ve got nothing to share. My milestones are different from other people’s. And yes, it’s hard when I hear about how happy so & so or that kid a went here there & everywhere. It’s heartbreaking for me, so I retreat. And eat.

I don’t even really have my faith to fall back on anymore. I don’t really have a spiritual home. I made a promise that the young Jedi would receive his sacraments in the Catholic Church, but even that seems to be up in the air now. I’ve been all over the map faith wise, and I’m tired. Lord knows I’m tired and road weary. I just want to settle down again and plant roots. Just when I seem to find a spot, something stops clicking for me. 

It’s hard to wake up and face my reality every single day. I wish it were different. I wish I could have the same unmitigated joy I see others having…the ones who get flowers for no reason, who have regular date nights, who know that they are loved unconditionally and whole heartedly. The ones who aren’t exhausted from getting their kid off to school every morning because autism presents a challenge. The ones who don’t have their child raging and melting down every night over homework and showers and bedtimes. The ones who always look so put together and have matching clothes and their hair and make up are done daily.the ones who always eat healthy and make it to the gym consistently. The ones who’s houses are always immaculate.  The ones who just seem to have it going on. They never run out of spoons do they?

I struggle so much from focusing on what I lack that I miss what I do have. I’ve got the wonder twins who provide me with that unconditional love. My son is an incredible kid, and we love each other fiercely. Maybe one day my fashion sense will improve. I’m a work in progress. I live in a beautiful home and have an awesome job. I do some pretty great things. I need to use these to fill my soul instead of food. 

Save my spoons for something else 

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