Just some thoughts.

I don't know why I started blogging. I am a very private, keep to myself person. I don't have friends. I don't hang with the girls. It's not that I don't want to, I just have this internal voice that convinces me that no one likes me. I have always had it. Maybe not always, but as long as I can remember. Do I want friends? Sure. But I don't know the first thing about making friends. I am not the type to call someone up and invite them somewhere, calling them might bother them. They don't like me, remember?

When I was younger, my parents partied. A lot. I was left to fend for myself. I ate what was easy. I was in 3rd grade. I didn't know how to cook. Taco Villa Became my staple dinner. My mom would bring home candy by the case. She stole it from work and it filled me up. And, I could give it to my friends and they would hang out with me. I bought their friendship. Food became a bargaining tool and it gave me the power to attract people. I was chubby. Of course I was. I lived on Whatchamacallits and refried beans. I didn't know better.

Pretty soon, the candy wasn't enough to bribe kids to play with me. They couldn't spend the night at a house where the parents were high all the time. I was rarely allowed to spend the night at their houses. And I learned at an early age that A) it was not safe to speak and B) no one cared what I had to say. So, I quit talking very much. But food.....it was there, it didn't leave me, it didn't care that I didn't talk and it made me feel better. To this day, I struggle with eating a cooked meal. I don't eat fast food, but I can eat the heck out of "finger foods." like popcorn or jelly beans or chips. Or just a spoonful of peanut butter. Whatever tasted good and was easy for an eight year old. I won't go into a lot of detail about what "happened" to me, but suffice it to say, food was the only good thing in my life.

Now, I am struggling to come to terms with food. I still find comfort in it. To the point that I will hide and eat. Or lie about how much I had. Yesterday, I ate almost 5,000 calories. In little things. Every morning I start off with a plan. Every afternoon, I find ways to talk myself out of it.

I think about food ALL the time. It is safe. It will be there. It will be there if I am fat, or thin, or stupid or worthless or any combo of the things I feel all the time. By giving this up, I am betraying the only friend I have.



I am going to copy this into an email for Olaf to read. My blog is too scary to share with him. :)


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