I lost 142 pounds.
I lost my mind.
I gained 25 pounds.
I will never find in food what I seek. But I keep looking for it there. Over and over again.
I’m not even sure what “it” is. Inner peace? Love? Nirvana?
Food is fuel. But it is so much more. It calms. It excites. It numbs. It kills. (So dramatic!)
After a year and a half of very regimented calorie counting, I started eating. AND EATING AND EATING AND EATING.
Do I eat because I hate myself or hate myself because I eat?
Or is that what “it” is? That thing I keep looking for in food. Anger. Self-reproach. Further proof of my unworthiness. (Good grief. I’m too tired to drag my daddy issues out into the light today.)
If that is it, then eureka! Mission accomplished. Call in the dogs. Job well done.