Part V

Cont...


My food issues were indeed out of control. Still are, in fact. I classify these issues as restrictions, because I wasn’t allowing myself to feel good, my mother’s suicide wasn’t allowing me to function normally. One week was exclusively dedicated to Golden Oreos for lunch and dinner. Sometimes I would only eat salami. I recall going on a hotdog binge. And I wonder why I’ve gained 20 pounds since last the summer of 2005.

I would often find myself thinking about sitting in the kitchen with my mother. She danced ballroom in that kitchen, a cook to boot. I would attempt to conjure up images of her making the sausage stuffing at Thanksgiving and many other delectables I can not physically afford to write about at this time. I would make myself frustrated at the fact that I had spent countless hours with her in the kitchen and couldn’t take note of temperature, of mise en place.

I bathed, washed the face, brushed the teeth, waxed…but looking in the mirror was weird. I could say I didn’t recognize myself, but that’s just putting a cliché to something far weightier. What I saw in the mirror was a girl with too much soul, a girl of yesterday and today but never tomorrow. My face was never quite as clear as it should have been. It didn’t take to makeup, to lotion. It was so blurry that to even call it a mess would be lying. My vision was lost.

In the simplest terms, I felt heavy. Sometimes I’d lie awake at night unable to move body parts because they felt like anchors. There were moments when I thought my heart would drop from its natural location and settle at my knees. The absolute worst were the heavy eye problem. My lids would swell to five times their size and all I could see in the mirror was a black circle where my face should be. Those eyes made my head to wobble from side to side. All I could do was lie down for fear of breaking my neck.