The first time it happened was I think in high school. I was pretty depressed, and was even engaging in self harm (light cutting on my thighs). I didn't do it because I thought I was fat or anything--in fact, I knew I was really thin, wished I had tits. But in all of the chaos that is adolescence, I guess I wanted a little sliver of control over myself. So I'd stop eating for a few days at a time. But I also really like to eat, so it'd swing back pretty quickly. No one really noticed.
The next time it happened, I was just out of college, living with my ex in a house in a city that was too expensive for us. I was too proud to ask for any more money from my parents (though they would gladly have given it to me). Rent and utilities got more and more behind. Food was scarce. We even stole from the grocery sometimes, until I got caught.
Well, when your SO is a bigger person with hypoglycemia who works an arduous job, you want them to eat. And when you feel like you've lost control, you want to take it back somehow. It wasn't exactly conscious... I just wasn't eating as much, then I wasn't eating at all... going as long as I could. It's funny, after just a couple days, your appetite dissolves. Sure, you're hungry, you can feel the sides of your stomach touching... but the emptiness is somehow powerful. Like there is nothing in you that can be hurt, that can be touched, because there is nothing there at all. And to fill it would be a shame, like soiling a crystal wine glass.
My ex actually took great notice this time and forced me to eat. I'll always love him for that... even just for noticing. Even though it didn't work out between us, and we had our problems, I think we really helped each other with each of our issues in the long run.
Except right now. This time is different. I'm not really depressed, just pretty anxious most of the time, almost manic. I feel more in control than I ever have, though. I have a busy, active lifestyle. I have a job I don't hate, I exercise, I have an active, enjoyable sex life, and friends who seem to care about me. And yet today, the only thing I had to eat was a few shriveled onions from the leftover roasted veggies I reheated. I tossed the rest out after thirty minutes of toying with it. There are other things to eat in the house, things I like. But I don't want to eat. I've been eating less and less every day for a few weeks.
Even though I love food--I love cooking and growing vegetables and eating with friends--there is some allure, some intoxication in just quitting it. There's power in seeing how long I can go without what keeps me alive. There's confidence in knowing I have complete control. My body is mine and I alone say what it can and cannot do.
I'll eat again here in a day or so. I'm not worried about it. This bout will pass easily, I think. I just thought this was a part of me that I'd left behind. But I guess it'll be there in the background, always.
Weirdly, that's comforting.
Submitted February 28, 2017 at 08:46PM by throwawayfoodiegirl http://ift.tt/2lR9WhF
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