Thursday 17 June 2010

Unedited Scenes From the Life of a Recovering Binge Eater

Last night I was already hungry and tired (and therefore grumpy) about 10 seconds after eating my afternoon snack. I had plans for dinner with the Nice Jewish Boy, who I have put off repeatedly over the past few weeks. I did not want to go, but nor did I feel I could cancel. I reminded myself that it wasn't fair to the NJB – one of the world's easiest going people – for me to be miserable to him because I feel overwhelmed and out of control, because he isn't the man I wish he were, because nothing in my life at the moment seems to be the way I wish it were. That it wasn't fair to the NJB for me to be miserable to him because I can't eat what I want in the quantities I want whenever I want; can't stuff down the anxiety and the fear with food, food, food.

I arrived at 8 pm – even hungrier and grumpier than I had been earlier because my jeans felt like sausage casing – to find him sitting outside. Now I know it's June but despite signs of heat earlier in the day, the temperature had dropped precipitously and my fingers were freezing.

I have told the NJB repeatedly that I don't do starters and could he please stop asking. But still he persists on asking me if I will split something. Last night I wasn't in the mood for it – or to be polite.

"I don't do starters," I said flatly. "That doesn't mean you can't have one," I added, trying not to be a total bee-yotch, as my friend from Arkansas would say.

"How about soup?" he suggested. Grrr. No.

"Salad?"

When I said no thank you to that he asked about whether I'd want a pudding later. No. No. NO. (I felt like asking him if he had ever seen me eat a pudding, and the realized the question was fruitless. This is a 37-year-old Cambridge-educated journalist who asked me quite seriously what happened to women's engagement rings once they got married. "What do you think those diamonds are that women wear on their fourth fingers?" I asked. "I never noticed," he answered.)

I thought I was going to burst into tears right at the table and asked for a minute. The poor NJB looked concerned and said he'd delay the order. That is not what I wanted, especially because he'd gone ahead and ordered a starter anyway, which meant that much longer until my dinner arrived.

"No, it's fine," I choked out, rummaging around for my phone and running off to the bathroom, wondering what on earth he was thinking and what I could possibly say to explain. But I didn't care. Inside I leaned my forehead against the cool stall door and repeated the serenity prayer: God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I can't change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. I said it over and over again, until the words lost their shape and became almost nonsensical. Then I left a voicemail for a friend. Deep breath.

Back at the table the NJB was nearly finished with his starter. I smiled. I apologized. He already knows I get grumpy when I'm hungry, so I explained this as an extreme form of that combined with jetlag and a to-do list the length of my leg that I feared might eat me alive.

"It took me almost six months just to get myself to the bank today," the NJB said, his very best attempt at sympathy, I knew. I tried not to hate myself too much for being difficult; for not being, for lack of a better word, normal. I could hear the voice of the binge eating counsellor I saw a couple of years ago, quoting Alcoholics Anonymous literature: And acceptance is the answer to all my problems today. When I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place, thing or situation – some fact of my life – unacceptable to me, and I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place, thing or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at this moment.

I sank into the words, the way you sink into an easy chair. The NJB chattered on about football and 90s jam bands and a Mitch Winehouse event (yes, Amy's dad, who's released a Sinatra-esque album) I have no intention of attending, but I wasn't irritated any more. It's literally been years since I watched television, but I watched the first four episodes of the first season of Peep Show on DVD, then went to bed.

***

On a totally unrelated note, I just used the phrase "(downward facing) dog's dinner" in a story about yoga and supper clubs. Clearly I need to get out a little more. Also unrelated: Trader Joe's dark chocolate covered pretzels = Crack.

That is all.

2 comments:

  1. "And acceptance is the answer to all my problems today. When I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place, thing or situation – some fact of my life – unacceptable to me, and I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place, thing or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at this moment."

    So dang true. Just made me tear up, reading that.

    I'm sorry the date was rough at first. NJB sounds like a good guy, just not the right one.

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  2. the above quoted mantra is EXACTLY what I needed to read right now, having spent the last few days feeling entirely overwhelmed and the evening trying desperately to stay away from the kitchen

    please don't ever stop writing here, it's never not helpful, shall update you on recent events soon, drama! x

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