After the Storm

I've been thinking a lot lately about the apparent connection between binge eating and the tendency (well, my tendency) to let problems become disastrous or otherwise five-star alarm before sorting them out.

I do it with my (messy) flat. I do it, embarrassingly, with my teeth (I thought about this in the dentist's chair today). I sometimes don't open all my mail. I avoid making choices until, often, I have one all but forced upon me, either by time or necessity or something else beyond my control.

When I'm bingeing, of course, I'm too tired and disgusted and busy feeling worthless to do much else. But when I'm not bingeing, I still don't look after my affairs the way an adult should. (Yes, I am exhausted from working until midnight a lot of nights, and spending a lot of my time doing things I don't want to do. But that really isn't an excuse to have a flat messy enough that no one can come in.)

Is it because I think I've accomplished enough and struggled enough by not bingeing, and therefore should be granted cosmic credit from the universe that absolves me from doing un-fun chore-type things? Or is it connected, in some way, to shame? All of these things – and bingeing, too, of course – are deeply embarrassing. I was marinating in shame sitting in the dentist's chair today, with more cavities than arelatively privileged 35-year-old woman in from a First World country ever ought to have. (Yes, you can insert joke about British teeth here. I'm too busy fearing tomorrow's wisdom tooth extraction...)

Life would be so much simpler and cleaner (in all sense of the word) and dare I say easier if I would just do a little more footwork. A little cleaning here and there and I wouldn't have to make up elaborate excuses why people can't come over, or fear something going wrong in my flat because it's too messy to call the super. A little more dealing with choices (mail, dates, whatever) and just finishing making an actual decision – instead of just thinking about – and I could rid myself of the stress of knowing I need to make a decision. Etc. Etc Etc.

I feel like if I could isolate why it is I do this to myself I would have an important piece of information about why I binge; why the tendency is there. Why do I feel (a) like I have earned some kind of right to a free pass that keeps me from having to do these things, (b) the need to be shamed (because clearly, on some level, I feel that), and (c) that I can put up with the consequences of living the way that I do. (Yes, I'm sure the latter two are linked.)

Anyway. As you might have guessed from the above there's been a lot of navel-gazing going on in Bethville. I've lately been beset by a huge case of what-the-hell-does-it-all-matter (I'm referring to weight here), and – wait for it – shame that I obsess about it so much. But that's a subject for another post, I suppose.

***

Thanks for the kind words on the run. I do actually know about the trick of wearing extra layers to chuck off at the start, except the New York half required you to wear your race bib on your outermost layer at all times. I also did a reasonably good job of cleaning out clothes I'd like to throw away in the move and, um, still haven't unpacked most of my non-winter boxes. (See shame, as above.)