|A part of my lunch|
"I'm going to be enormously pregnant FOREVER!"
"I am NOT HAPPY."
Waaaa. Waaaa. Waaaa.
Big deal, Lady.
Have you read some statistics on how many families in America actually experience hunger on a regular basis? How many American children do not have a reliable source of consistent, nutritious food?
I double-dog dare you to go look up those facts and then complain about not having bacon.
Instead, you'll find yourself looking through you cupboard going, "What can I give to my local soup kitchen to help?" Or "where local can I volunteer to DO SOMETHING about a real crisis?"
Food supply is great.
Honestly, I thought we'd be nearly out of bread and milk by now, but we've got more than enough for the next few days. Veggies literally everywhere we turn around. Plenty of cheese. Plenty of soy. Plenty of eggs. Even some chicken and pepperoni. Lots of apples, raisins, and I could probably go pick more figs, if I cared too. Tons of peanut butter, beans, oats, rice, potatoes. Oil. Even butter.
So there is nothing to complain about or grump about.
As I sit here trying to pay attention to the "What's really bothering you, Kid?"
So, I sit, and think, and then I talk over the phone with my best friend.
We talk about my stuff and her stuff. We listen to each other's pain and offer gentle comfort as friends.
It's actually not about the bacon.
For me, it's about wanting a pacifier to soothe the hurt.
Something, that I, as a food addict, want to put in my mouth and make me feel better...and not feel this pain of loneliness, rejection, or passive aggressive manipulation.
Something to make me forget the gnaw and the ache of being innocent and still "they done me wrong" and I don't know how to fix it.
Perhaps, it can't be fixed.
Perhaps, only time can heal and fix it...or at least blunt the rocky, jagged edges of the pain to a rounded smoothness.
Food, for most of my life, has been my go-to comforter.
My drug of choice.
My solace and my worst enemy all rolled into one giant, raging addiction.
Even now, more than 100 pounds later, I still want to reach for comfort food when I'm in emotional pain.
Tonight instead, I opened myself up to my friend.
Her words, both a combination of wise solace and tough kid humor, were a balm to my frayed emotions.
And so, I can stand here before you and say, "Yes, there is more hope, in abundance, and it was not found by burrowing into food, because I can not cope, or am afraid, of what these feelings are."
These feelings will pass.
And I will enjoy bacon again.
I just don't have to have "my fix" tonight in order to forget the pain.
On some brighter notes:
- the air-conditioning is FIXED! (Thank you, thank you, thank you, God!)
- This weekend, I get to learn how to make ricotta AND mozzarella cheese with another dear friend and a honest-to-goodness cheese-maestro!
- Money spent: $0