So what drives me to eat more, more when I already feel awful, the bloating pushing my guts forward so I thought I was done eating, but here I am again, sitting at the table, chewing on something, what is it, I don’t even taste it, why, why am I eating? Is it because I know I’ll have to eat in 20 minutes anyway, blood sugar crash that frantic push to eat enough but why, why it doesn’t make me feel better, why if I don’t even taste it, what is it. Pay attention to the texture, that’s what I was thinking, the only positive thing I can immediately draw from this growing awareness. But then it fades so fast. Like the way my head immediately leans back again when I let it go, and is it better just to not let it go?
What does it mean to feel full, full of something other than pain and discomfort? Nourished or even energized by all this healthy food I’m constantly feeding myself, how many comments at health food stores across the country about how healthy, how healthy you must feel with all those greens, all this organic produce, dried beans and grains and nothing else, nothing processed, nothing refined, no sugar or dairy or gluten but everything hurts nonetheless. Generally I think it would hurt more if this wasn’t the case, but what do I know, what do I know anymore, after so many years focusing so much on my health and mostly getting nowhere?
The head closing off, right, like I’m trying to think, trying to write about this, this food, this eating, this terrible place in my head, closing off, just when I’m getting into the flow of writing, thinking, and then where, where again, what, what was I writing, who, who is this, what, what am I except this fog and pain and sure, occasionally I think maybe it would be better without eating, right? But then I know, I know it won’t be better.
I tried not eating for five years or so, when I was anorexic, 12 to 17, maybe, something like that. It gave me a lot of energy; I was always wired. I was frantic and frenetic, my brain bouncing with so many ideas. I hated my life, I felt trapped, I felt I could never get away, there was no possibility. But I would go all day without eating, pretty much every day, maybe some No-Doz or Vivarin to keep me going, okay maybe that was the energy, of course I’m not revisiting this idea, this idea that was about taking my body back from my parents and their violence, my father’s eyes and hands, I have that back now, I think, maybe. Why still does food make me so sick?
Of course there’s a possibility of a candida overgrowth, an imbalance in my gut, parasites, all of these things I’ve been investigating and treating for almost 20 years now with no luck, really, so what’s next? Next is this awareness, this awareness that I’m never in my body while I’m eating, that even if I try, briefly, to feel my body more, it doesn’t work, it just makes me feel worse, angry and stuck and hopeless and yes, I know that awareness sometimes brings discomfort, yes, I’m trying to think that this discomfort will lead to comfort but oh I’ve been trying for so long.