Meaningless Eating = Meaningless Life"Yummy, this is really healthy! You can easily take one plate more!"
I'm so tired of hearing that sentence.
It's like, that exact combination of words have destroyed my happiness.
I'm so so scared of becoming a so called 'binge-eater'. I once looked it up and thought:
"Nah, that's never going to be me, I can control myself!"
And I really could! I never had any crazy desire for ice-cream, chocolate, baked goods, sweets or anything related to food at all - sure, once in a while I would get a feeling that told me to go nuts in some kind of culinary delight, but I was always able to control myself by thinking: "It's not good for you, you're already full." But, that came to an end, when my mother started to notice my 'weird eating habits and fetish'.
I didn't find them weird at all. I ate when I was hungry, and didn't need to stuff my face when the weekend arrived and the family would gather to have a nice evening together - accompanied by the television and a HUGE tray of sickening sweet treats. My mother didn't like that at all. In her world, in order to have a nice night, something sugary for your mouth was very much needed, which is why she began to observe me closely every time I would sit down to have a meal.
It made me feel very uncomfortable but she didn't stop when I told her that. I began going to my room in order to eat, but that quickly stopped, since she would come knock on my door or loudly complain about my lack of social skills which just made me really sad.
And to make everything even worse, I decided to become a vegan - since I already had been a vegetarian for two years, I thought I might as well cut out any animal related food, since it's what I believe is most healthy for your body - but of course dear mother of mine didn't favor that one bit... She said that my 'obsession with food' had gone to far, that she was worried about my health, kept telling me the human body couldn't function properly on plants only, said my mind was always only on food.
She couldn't understand and didn't like the weird vegan recipes I made for dinner.
She didn't like that I was so interested in cooking for the family.
She didn't understand how sad it made me when she would wrinkle her nose and observe me with disappointed eyes across the dinner table.
She didn't like that I regularly exercised, since I wanted - and still wants - to become a marathon runner.
But what she absolutely hated, was the fact that I'd lost weight.
I was so satisfied with my body. I loved the way it had become, and it had taken a whole year of running, training, cycling and dancing for me to get it that way. To me, it was perfect and I had reached my ultimate goal in life: I really liked myself and the way I looked.
My mother didn't like it.
So she called a doctor.
The doctor told me to gain at least 10 kg.
I did NOT want that.
I felt as if my happiness was ripped away from me. My too short victory in life, that one and only period in my life when I for the first time in 17 years had felt beautiful was destroyed by those words...
In the start I tried to cheat the doctor by eating a huge portion of all kinds of foods before I was going on the scale. It didn't really help a lot, since my mother went behind my back and told the doctor about my weird meals and obsessive addiction to food and cooking, to which she responded by trying to get me to realize that cutting out pork and beef in your daily diet was fine, but chicken, fish and things such as milk, butter and eggs were necessary for me to keep living. Which is not true at all...
It just made me even more sad and depressed that my mother couldn't accept my way of living, and the I actually started to carve sweets like never before - like a comfort-blanket.
In the start it wasn't so bad. I might have eaten a little too much some days, but it was only once a week. I didn't make me feel better. Then I started to carve bread. Then baked goods. Ice cream. Cookies. Just anything eat-able!
I would stuff my face until I could barely walk, and I would go to my bed and try to lie as comfortable as possible since my stomach was hurting so much it was like I was giving birth through my navel. But then it went all crazy and I began to want cheese, milk, omelets, scrambled eggs, pancakes, waffles EVERYTHING!
Actually, it's been like that the past month.
Every time I try to go back to my old healthy pattern I fail so badly and end up just eating, eating and eating. It makes me so miserable. I lied myself sick from school for a whole week, because I'd eaten so much and my stomach had become so big that I'd outgrown my pants and other clothes...
I can't stop myself from wanting food now.
I can't get back into my old pattern. I am ashamed of my body, I HATE myself. I hate what the mirror shows me. I hate food. I hate all the people around me, who can't see how fat I've become and keep telling me: "Eat more! You can easily take a plate more, it's healthy and yummy!"
No, it's not!
Look what it has done to me. Look at what it has done to my body.
I just want to be happy again. I want to be able to look in the mirror and say: "I look pretty." I wan't to be able to fit my clothes again. I want to turn back time to that one day where I actually allowed myself to eat something sweet.
But I can't and it scares me. I don't want to be fat again.
There's so much more I would like to write down, but I just can't since I've got so many thoughts going around in my head from writing all this down. There's more to my story than this. This is just the top of the iceberg. But god...
My life just feels meaningless now.