I Eat

I Eat.

Sometimes the best stories are the most honest ones.  The story I have written below is about my relationship with food.  Please feel free to comment and let me know if anything in the piece resonates with you or if you have any personal connections.

Thanks!

Sam

I eat.  I eat to suppress the loneliness that threatens to swallow me whole.  I eat. I eat to numb the aching pains in my heart. I eat. I eat to maintain control of some area of my life when everything feels like a tornado.  I eat. I eat because it bring me a joy that overcomes all feelings of depression. I eat and I eat and I eat. I eat in spite of the times I look in the mirror that leave me feeling disgusting or disappointed with the reflection.  No matter the end result, I eat.

I struggle to remember a time I didn’t feel loneliness.  That gut wrenching feeling that sucks you down a dark hole filled with thoughts of self deprivation and discomfort.  It’s comparable to that feeling you have when you have to walk all the way to your car at the edge of the lot in the dark.  You are hyper aware of every move you make. Fully conscious of the fact that you have no one to rely on in that moment. There is no one watching out for you or making sure that your mistakes don’t lead to demise.  Palms sweating, heart racing, you fumble to get your keys into the lock. As soon as you get in, you let out a sigh of relief heavy with the tension of what could have happened. This is my every moment. I have always felt out of place or awkward around other people.  Many of my “friends” would say that I am an excellent chameleon. I’m able to change or adjust to get by with those around me. I can fake it just enough to get along with anyone, but at the end of the day, I haven’t done enough to make a true connection. I’m your “work friend” or your “online pal,” but I don’t have the qualities that lead to hanging out outside of our shared location or that warrant conversations about deep topics.  I’m not the type of person that has a best friend or confidant. I am missing that person or that connection that provides the sigh of relief at the end of the day. I carry on through every aspect of life, just waiting to be seen. Waiting for someone to want to get close. Palms sweating, heart racing, I listen to the keys fumble in the lock as someone returns home. Ready to pour out my soul, but when they are standing in front of me I revert to “how was your day” and “fine.”  So I eat. The food becomes my friend as we create lasting memories together. We are able to share dark desires and light hearted moments together. It connects me to other people in a way I am unable to do comfortably.  Food pulls me out of the dark parking lot of life.

Has your heart ever been broken in a way that you feel the ache with every breath you take?  The kind of heartbreak that dulls your senses to the point that life has lost every ounce of vibrancy that it once held.  Maybe my heart was injured the first time and it has become too fragile. I’m like your favorite toy that is held together with glue, but the slightest bump and it is shattered worse than before.  I remember the first time my heart was broken. A boyfriend with a mouth full of insults and hands full of aggression. You place so much faith in your first love. To know that your have poured your soul into the hands of another who doesn’t treat it like a gift...heart broken.  After that, I was too sensitive, easily manipulated, at risk. Many years of loved ones lost too soon, close family members taking their last breath, relationships destroyed.  I am all too aware of every shard that threatens to pierce through the wall I have built up to protect myself.  With all this pain, it is easy to forget what it means to be fully human. So I eat. Food helps to create sensations and feelings that I worked so hard to bury in all aspects of life.  Each bitter morsel is an opportunity to feel all the anger, hurt, and resentment in a safe environment. Something sour or salty help to shock the system out of the numb and back into vibrant reality for just a moment.  The sweet delicacy is a reminder of all the joy that once existed and is a glimpse into what life looks like without sorrow.

Control comes in many forms.  Some people are able to control other people, they are manipulative at their worst and charismatic at their best.  Some people are able to control themselves. They maintain a stoic presence in the face of overwhelming adversity. Nothing fazes them because they know who they are, or at least have the strength to be who they want to be.  Some people are able to control their surroundings. They seem to have a gift for organizing their lives in such a way that everything falls into place. There are plans and back up plans that convey a sense of calm. I have none of these things, so I eat.  My life often feels like a huge storm of events that leave me feeling helpless or disoriented. I’m forever teetering on the edge of a cliff of emotion, that threatens to destroy everything that I work toward. When you live with a mental illness that affects your reactions to things, the pressures of maintaining control leave you ending each day exhausted and frustrated.  Why did I react that way? Why couldn’t I get it right? Why can’t I just be normal? Food is my normal. Eating is my control. My relationships aren’t working or my son isn’t listening...chips can fix that. I hate how I react to bad news...I’ll have some cake. Plans fall apart and now nothing is working out...I can stop for a milkshake. There is so much to control with food.  You get to decide what to have, how to have it, how much to eat, when to stop, and whether it stays in you. No one takes those things away. It is easy, so I eat.

Have you ever noticed that most of our best memories revolve around food?  My favorite experiences with my grandmother were when we would stay to visit and she would set my sister and I up at the table to decorate sugar cookies.  She would always say that we shouldn’t eat any raw dough because “it will make you sick.” Did that stop us? No! We snuck in bites of the dough here and there and she pretended not to notice when the cookie sheet wasn’t full.  As a child, my family went out to eat every Sunday after church with my best friend’s family. It was always an exciting event deciding where we would eat and talking about our week throughout the meal. We enjoyed this time eating together to the very end.  I remember bringing them a pie when their mom was very close to passing. We were eating the pie when they had to run to the back room to say goodbye. Eating is what made that day palatable. When my mom and dad would get into an argument, my dad used to take us to the grocery store.  My mom was very frugal, so my dad’s revenge was to make an extravagant meal for dinner that night. I had so much fun seeing the irritation, love of my dad’s sense of humor, and eventual forgiveness flash across her face as we ate delectable crab legs. When my husband proposed, he spent the entire evening preparing a seafood feast for us to enjoy.  When my son was born, I ate more hospital pancakes than I care to admit. Food is what ties every experience up into a pretty little bow. We associate food with the hurt, laughter, anger, and love that we feel for others. So I eat. It helps me to remember all the joy in the world. I eat, just in case that moment will become the new best memory that I hold on to when I’m feeling lost. I eat.

Brain Unzipped

Brain Unzipped

I am not sure how or why, but something about me feels off.  Throughout my life it has been described in many different ways: rude, brash, full of inquiry, awkward, nerdy, weird, gifted...none of them fit me quite right.  In an effort to come clean about a few things that consume my daily thought process, so that you may fully understand me, here is my brain unzipped.

Lately, I have become increasingly obsessed with soup.  What makes something a soup? Upon reflection, one may define soup as a liquid dish, typically made by adding solid ingredients to the liquid.  However, this leads to the inevitable conclusion that cereal is a form of soup. In addition to cereal, oatmeal and grits could also be labeled as soup.  Therefore, there may be a currently unexplored category of breakfast soups in existence. On the other hand, we could define soup as a liquid dish containing vegetables.  Unfortunately, this would eliminate one of the most delicious forms of soup, tomato. Tomatoes are definitely a fruit, so they could not be soup under this working definition.  At best, tomato soup would have to be labeled as a form of jelly. I would love someone from the food industry to clear up this soup confusion before I discover any other unsavory categories of soup that may ruin my breakfast.

Driving in a car is a terrifying experience for me that causes overwhelming anxiety.  Have you ever considered that the longer you are in a vehicle, the more likely you are to be in an accident?  Yet, we all continue to drive every day all over the world. Many naysayers will respond to me that research says that the majority of accidents occur within five minutes of our homes.  However, I don’t think of driving as separate events. When you add all the driving time together, we will spend an average of 37,935 hours driving. With all that time logged in a vehicle, we are bound to be in a few accidents.  I often find myself worrying more and more the longer I spend in a vehicle. This means that I must be close to an accident. I was recently in a car accident and, despite the danger and inconvenience, I found relief in this because it meant I would have a significant block of time to spend in the car until my next one.  Based on the data, it seems like we would be better off to only complete a minimal amount of driving and then swear off time in a vehicle forever.

Lunch meat is gross.  I don’t care who you are or what you say.  Lunch meat is one of the nastiest things I can imagine eating.  This all began when I was younger and realized that lunch meat has the slimy texture that I associate with the feel of a jellyfish.  You touch it and it feels cold and slippery. It touches your lips and it slides all around your mouth like meat jello. Then you have to consider the scent that emanates from a bag of turkey.  It can only be described as the same smell that comes when you open up a new bag of diapers. I cannot begin to fathom how anyone would get to a place where they could ignore all these atrocious qualities of lunch meat enough to put it between two pieces of bread and place it in their mouth.

The alphabet is completely ridiculous.  There are letters that make one sound, letters that make many sounds, and, sometimes, letters that make no sounds.  In addition, we have some letters that I think are utterly useless. For example, the letter “c.” This letter really has no place or purpose in the English language.  “C” is able to make two distinct sounds, hard and soft. I would propose that everytime “c” is making a soft sound it could be replaced with “s” and that every time it makes a hard sound, it could be replaced with “k.”  These two simple changes would not only make English make a little more sense, but it would also render the letter “c” useless. “X” is another letter that could easily be thrown out. Did you know that there are more uses for x in math than there are in English?  Why do we spend any time teaching this ridiculous letter? I spend more time than I care to admit hating the letters “c” and “x.”

Compliments are the most confusing social interaction to navigate.  I often find myself frozen with confusion over the idea behind a compliment.  My first thought to process is how genuine the compliment really is. People may want to get you to like them, they may feel like it is expected, they could be using sarcasm, they could have intention to sway you to do something they want, or they could really mean what they say.  With each compliment I receive, I have to thoughtfully consider the intent behind it in order to construct an appropriate response. The second thought process is to think about how to respond. I could just respond with a simple thank you. This may be considered the best response, but I disagree.  That thank you could be perceived as me being egotistical. Also, if I respond with only a thank you, then there is often an awkward silent moment filled with expectation of more. I have yet to figure out what that more is. I could follow up with another compliment; however, it may be disingenuous because it isn’t something I would have necessarily said unless I felt obligated because of the one they gave me first.  Or, I could give a brief history behind their compliment. For example, if they like my dress I can explain where I got it or how much it cost. Unfortunately, I may be providing information that they simply don’t care to know and they were just being polite. This means that I have wasted precious time. I wish there was some way we could communicate intent behind our social interactions to cut down on all this confusion and opportunities for multiple meanings behind our actions.

Many people may find my thoughts overly analytical.  It may make them uncomfortable to consider these things or they laugh it off as something strange.  I may come across better in a one on one interaction or small group because I feel more comfortable with my ability to read the situation and choose which things to share.  In a large group, it is much more difficult to pull from the threads of thought flying through my brain to determine which will be the most relevant or beneficial. One must consider the balance of the length of time spent talking about yourself.  Researchers have identified that individuals who spent an inordinate amount of time during an interaction are unlikeable or annoying. Therefore, keeping a mental tally of my participation helps to maintain a sense of normalcy.

Do these thoughts make me weird?  Maybe, but it’s me and my brain. I find that the more time I dedicate to analyzing and understanding these things, I am better able to “play” normal.  Then I also think, at what point does focusing so much attention toward coming across normal make me that much stranger?

I would love to dedicate this piece to my dear friend, Elizabeth Davis.  She highly encouraged me to write this piece as a way to better understand the way my brain works and thinks.  Have you ever felt like no one thinks the way you do?  Do you ever have crazy thoughts that send you spiraling down a rabbit hole?  Please leave a comment below and let me know your thoughts/reactions.

Thanks!

Sam

Loss

Loss

It has been a little while since I posted.  This is because I have been working hard at the Shenandoah Valley Writing Project.  As part of the project, I am required to complete some personal writing.  Therefore, I will be posting a few of my pieces to the site.  I would love to hear feedback from anyone.  Please leave your comments below.

The following piece was written directly after the death of my grandfather and is dedicated to his memory.

They say when you lose someone that it creates a hole in your heart, but I think it is more like a splintering in your soul.  Prior to the first time you lose a loved one, your soul is a smooth path.  There are twists and turns, ups and downs.  You carry on in that vulnerable optimism that we associate with youth.  The world is full of opportunity.  Then a fracture occurs.

Sometimes you lose someone quickly.  There is no reason for this type of loss.  A life cut short.  It is impossible to make sense of this type of thing.  No one around you knows what to say or do.  Awkward silences surround you and fill the air with a heaviness that makes it difficult to think or even breathe.  Everyone questions why and how such a thing could have happened.  I think back to the death of my uncle.  A slippery road, no seat belt, an ejection from the vehicle.  I remember the shock when we got the call at church.  I watch my grandmother as she lays a son to rest.  It is not the first child she has lost.  Her youngest was a man I never got to meet.  A child on a bicycle.  I cannot comprehend how she has carried on with the heaviness of that type of loss.

Sometimes you lose someone slowly.  This type of loss can only be described as a constant weight followed by an abrupt, guilt-filled release.  The heaviness comes from the days, weeks, months, and even years of watching someone full of life slowly lose themselves.  They no longer experience the wide range of emotions that make us fully human.  They are shells of the people they once were and we must be the witnesses to it all.  We must experience the grief for so long that we almost become immune to it.  Almost.  Then they pass and for a moment we find relief.  Relief from watching a vibrant being suffer in the monotony of sickness.  Relief from the constant worry and pain.  Overwhelming guilt for feeling the relief.  My grandfather had been sick for a long time.  He was a woodworker, a father, a follower of Christ.  He enjoyed spending time with family and building things for the people he loved.  We watched him slowly deteriorate.  In the end, he no longer looked himself.  He was vulnerable instead of strong and I know this upset him.  His passing was an act of mercy.

Fast or slow, loss splinters the soul.  It takes the smooth path of life and fractures a being off into a totally new direction.  You can never go back to the person you were before.  Grief changes you.  It hardens your heart.  It has to or we would all be unable to cope with the pain that never truly leaves us.  We learn how to take the heartache and make it become a part of the person we are, a new path our soul is on.  We push past the bad memories and try to look back on the good, but they are still twisted.  Never fully whole, because we are not fully whole anymore.  We tell ourselves that there is a purpose, a reason for loss, but this is not what helps us carry on.  We only continue when we embrace the new person that has been created as a result of the loss.  We appreciate how our loved ones impacted our lives and know that this new being wouldn't exist without them, or the emptiness they have created in our hearts.  It is this magical balance of good and bad, dark and light, that makes life worthwhile.  I know that I want to experience all of it.  For there cannot be pure joy without debilitating sadness, true love without anger fueled hate, or full life without devastating death.