The Pivotal Quiche

Which really Wasn't That Pivotal After All

The last four, five weeks I have been eating A LOT. The anxiety that wouldn't leave me alone for the latter part of the fall finally let off (with the occasional reoccurrence forcefully suppressed with Lorazepam).

I lost weight because I couldn't eat - anxiety is so filling - and that was nice, better than nice, awesome, as I have been quite overweight for some time.

However, with the anxiety gone my appetite returned, and not just my normal somewhat obsessive binge-eating-on-the-weekends appetite, but something new, something like eat-whatever-the-fuck-you-can-find-that's-eatable-every-night kind of thing. Yesterday I ate myself sick by eating the pasta dough raw rather than say make pasta from it. I had explosive diarrhea. And, of course, with insane eating disordered logic spewing crap was somehow a good thing,. It left me perversely pleased with myself.

A couple of days ago, after my nightly binge, I tried throwing up, but I've never been very good at that. It's a lot of work for little gain. If you drink a bunch of fluid what you'll end up throwing up is the fluid not the solids with all the calories. After sticking the toothbrush down my throat for ten minutes I gave up.

For weeks I have gone to bed every night so full that my stomach hurt, and I have woken up bloated enough to look pregnant. I have had constant heartburn, and I have punctuated my self loathing with loud belches. I have eaten fistfuls of gasx to no avail. I have promised myself to turn a new leaf every single day. 

Yes, today too.

Last Friday morning I was sitting on the floor in my kitchen drinking a cappuccino and feeling a bit peckish. So I grabbed that other quiche I'd bought from Whole Foods, sat back down and began to nibble. It didn't take long for me to realize that the quiche contained ham (I'm a vegetarian who sometimes manages to fail to read the labels of the food I buy). I continued nibbling. I figured what the hell, I'm hungry, I may as well eat it. And then I nibbled some more feeling that unfamiliar texture of ham in my mouth. 

Now, I am a vegetarian because I don't like meat, the flavor, the texture, the color. However, as time has gone by it's become something more because I have an ongoing battle with waiting staff and chefs and cooks to make sure the food on the menu hasn't been cooked with beef or chicken stock, or the mashed potatoes haven't been brightened up with bits of bacon. In fact, bacon is a bit of a scourge. Apparently everything tastes better with bacon, even otherwise completely vegetarian sounding salads. But other people's sometimes rather loose definition of vegetarian has left me on my guard, I've felt sullied when exposed to meat, I have had dreams about eating meat and feeling violated. Being a vegetarian has become more than just not liking meat, it's become something akin to a religious sense of purity.

I was sitting there on the floor in my kitchen as these thoughts went through my mind and this sly voice in my head said not to bother, come on, hungry!

Somehow I made myself stop. I tossed the quiche in the garbage and I marveled at what just happened with my roommate. 

But she knew the monster in my stomach already, so she was unimpressed. I could see that she remembered how on my birthday she got me a cake, she ate a tiny piece and I ate two huge pieces, then while she was out of the house I finished the cake.

And yeah, she came back, went for some cake just to find a big empty hole in the fridge and me in my bed with the empty plate next to me and a guilty, disgusted kind of grin on my face.

The shame wasn't enough though, but I thought that omnivore incident might have been, but it wasn't either. Neither was the stinky bathroom last night. I haven't yet reached my house and I've already had three chocolate bars in addition to a hearty lunch, two (whole milk) cappuccinos, a soy milk latte and a TLC (I hate those health bar thingies) and an apple.

When I get home the monster will come out. Will I eat my roommate's jar of peanut butter and then shamefacedly replace it with a jar I'll also polish off?

I was really happy to have lost that weight, and although I haven't seen any numbers (my scale broke and I threw it out) I can feel my newly loosened jeans tighten again. 

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