Cheese Puffs, Solitude and Truth

It started when I was 7. I'd crouch into the kitchen, slowly open the cupboard door, carefully open the bag of cheese puffs, cringing the entire time just knowing that I would get caught. This would be it. The jig would be up. I would be caught red handed, or in this case, day glow orange handed. Alas, the bag would be open! I'd reach my hand in, my mouth already watering from anticipation, I'd get the first fistful of cheese puffs and stuff one in my mouth. I wouldn't chew right away. In fact my method didn't require chewing at all. I'd hold it in my mouth, allow it to melt in the saliva. This was the easiest way to eat them. I wouldn't get that raw mouth one normally does when eating cheese puffs. Instead the cheese puff would melt to a wonderful mushy consistency and all I would have to do is swallow. Then it would be time to do it all over again. I loved these secret trips to the kitchen, to my special cheese puff cupboard, to my haven of safety. Those cheese puffs were my best friend. They filled a hole that wasn't filled by anything else.

I've always snuck food. I can't remember a time when I haven't. When I was in junior high, I loved coming home from school to an empty house. This was the time that I got to make cheese rice. I would carefully measure the rice and the water. The perfect consistency of rice was so dependent upon the perfect proportions. Once the rice and water were in the bowl I would top it off with a slice of American cheese. The microwave would do it's fantastic magic and Presto! I would have my little bowl of perfection. It would be me, the cheese rice and the safety of solitude.

Then I would panic. Time to hide the evidence. My sister would be home soon. I can't have her know. Can't have her find out the truth. I would scrub the dishes by hand. Dissolve all the specks of remaining goodness. Down the sink it went along with little bits of my self worth. In no time the kitchen would be clean. A testament to the world that I never ate at all. I knew the cheese rice would never divulge the precious connection we had. The cheese rice and I still had our little secret.

It's been this way my entire life. I used to view food as my best friend. Now I view it as my enemy. Let's just come out and say it...I'm a binge eater. To this day I still sneak food in solitude. Now, instead of just a few fistfuls of cheese puffs, or a bowl of cheese rice, it's half a box of cereal, a bag of popcorn, half a bag of chips, a few slices of cheese, a slice or two of left over pizza...shall I go on? I assume that you get the idea. I don't purge, meaning I don't throw up after bingeing, because I love the feeling of being full, of being stuffed, when my pants get so tight, like after thanksgiving dinner, that I have to unbutton my pants. And yet, I despise that feeling as well. I think, "How could I do this to myself, again?" Such an odd juxtaposition to be in.

The humor in it all is that even with being that full, with eating so much that if I were to eat another bite I would throw up because not one more bit of food will fit into my body, I still don't feel full. I still feel hungry. I have a hole in me that is never full. It's always running on empty.

On Monday I have an intake appointment for an eating disorder program. I am petrified. The program is five days a week, nine and a half hours a day. My first thought is, where will I be able to binge in solitude? When will I be able to get that next fix? And yet, I don't want that next fix. I don't want to swallow another bit of self hatred. With each bite of food I lose a little more of who I am, I lose a little more of myself. The food has taken over. I have allowed food to use it's power over me for way too long. I need to fill my arsenal with a multitude of weapons so that I can actually win a battle someday. I want to see food as fuel not as solace. I want solitude to be splendid not covert. Most of all, I want to be free from this addiction.

Tomorrow my journey towards being free begins. Today is another day of struggling against these chains to food, of trying to live another day with this empty hole.

Casey is not here right now. I hear the cupboards beckoning me. I hear the cupcake batter in the fridge swirling about. The chips are singing their sweet song of temptation. I can hear the cereal dancing it's delicious cha-cha-cha. And off some where in the distance, a half a world away, I can hear the cheese puffs calling my name...