Mother fucker, I hate this day. “Confront Your Food Fears”
This day has been hard already and I’ve only been awake for an hour. Something about facing my fears is something that I’m really not too keen on, I mean, they’re called fears for a reason, because they make you feel uncomfortable. My motto for the day is “I can eat without fear”. Yeah, we’ll do that, we’ll do that very well.
The fear, that most people don’t realize, is not that the food itself is scary, I’m afriad of myself. The fact that food is tasty isn’t scary, the fact that food is good for you (some of it) isn’t scary, the thought of me losing control is. The thought of me not eating/eating is scary. I can think back to times that I thought ALL food was good no matter what it was. I’d cram in it my mouth and sometimes not chew at all – those were empty emotional times.
I can also think back to the times that I restricted my caloric intake to 70 a day (no typo, it was 70). I was petrified of food, and there is one time that I recall being so scared I started buying baby food and rationing it out a quarter at a time. Talk about pathetic, but that’s the problem. I’m pathetic, I don’t know the middle of the road. I’m going to do something, I’m going to go big or not at all. This is tough, really tough.
Morning Journal Entry is (drum roll please) – Identify a food item that causes fear and why.
Cookies, simple as that. I can eat those bitches all day and all night if I could. I mean, I could sit there and eat until there were no more cookies in the world. The worst are work cookies, there they are for the taking without any sort of indication that they’re supposed to be for EVERYONE. I find myself stuffing them in my mouth quicker than I can move my hands and usually end up right in the bathroom within about three minutes. The reason, and it’s simple, I feel like they’re not supposed to be for me, so I feel this naughty guilt. I guess I also feel like I’m doing everybody else a favor by NOT letting them eat them.
The brown boxes of cookies that get brought to work from the Fresh Market are the worst. They’re delicious and I love them. I can even think back to the time that I was really sick and I couldn’t even work. I’d go to the fresh market to get the ex a cookie and surprise him at work with it – and I’d do so only hoping that he’d give me a nibble. I soon realized that the only way that I was going to get a nibble was if I got my own…and then it happened. I started going to the fresh market on my own to get my own. With no purpose other than to just eat junk. Never once do I think I’ve gone to the fresh market with good intentions. It’s an evil place, but it’s soooooo good.
I remember cookies growing up, my mom would make sure we had our favorite cookies in the house. Heck, she’d even make homemade ones that were even more special. Oh man, those were killer. There is something special about moms cookies. Now she’s far away and I”m here without that motherly feeling and I guess the closest I can get is the cookie counter at the fresh market. . . Sigh.