Sweet Potato Pounds

Monday was my first day back in the club after a few weeks of vacation, and I was ready to get thehell back to work and get on with my life. My vacation was a total bust. In eight days, a pal and I drove 2600 miles around the country, and what I pictured as a beautiful hiking and camping and exploring-nature-y-things and bonding with a close friend sort of trip, was actually not much of any of that at all. My disappointment over the trip and the wide berth between this pal and I now is still around. I was excited, and I’d worked pretty hard to make the trip and my race happen. Between paying two years of taxes in one year and buying a new (used) car this year, I can’t travel again for awhile, and I think I’m just stuck here in some sort of loneliness and sadness and regret.

I’ve been bingeing on vegetables and salads and fresh fruits like crazy. I’ve had more sex in a week than I probably have in several months combined, and that isn’t counting masturbating. I’ve drank more than I care to (which barely registers on most people’s radar), curled up on the couch with the dogs and watching too much television. I bought an embarrassing load of stuff I didn’t need over the weekend. I guess I just don’t fucking care. I care about running and paying shit on time, but care about what — or who — else? I’m having a hard time with that. I’m kind of imploding into this thing where I don’t really want to be around other people. Everyone else just keeps letting me down, so I keep filling my face-hole with awesome salads, knowing that it won’t help, some combination of not caring and lack of control.

I’ve been feeling undervalued. Not just by familiar friends and family, but strangers waiting on my tables in restaurants and giving me change and coworkers. I worked hard to make the trip happen and felt taken advantage of by a long-time friend; my parents take for granted that I’m overly responsible while being hyper-critical of my job; the Ex-I’m-Fucking has taken to getting as stoned as possible before seeing me, eating, and falling asleep before getting to the part where we have sex; even waitresses can’t seem to give me any better than really shitty service.

I want someone to be nice to me! I want someone to treat me like the cash I give them or the favor I do or the treat I treat them to means something to them…even if they’re pretending. I just want someone to assign the same meaning to what I earned. It maybe takes me less time to earn money, sometimes, but it’s entirely emotionally draining and physically demanding. I wish that other people understood.

I had an eating disorder for a long time, paralleling some tough shit. It’s been nearly five years of “recovery,” of eating the best I can, of doing the right things for my body instead of coping in ways that were totally un-helpful. It’s not that it’s tempting to go back to that coping, to those eating patterns; it’s the sense of order and single-mindedness and focus, and only dealing with one problem while others seemed insignificant, and the familiar starving-brain fuzzy-thinking-quiet. I can’t imagine going back to disordered eating, but I suppose, really, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing since I returned home from my trip. Except backwards. I’ve been shoving my face full of food and I’ve gained a few sweet-potato pounds. Do I not care? Do I not know how to stop? Am I saying I don’t care because I don’t know what to do about the stopping part of the binge? It’s fucking vegetables, does it matter?


~ by The Stiletto-Shod One on June 1, 2013.

4 Responses to “Sweet Potato Pounds”

  1. I can relate to this—> “I want someone to be nice to me! I want someone to treat me like the cash I give them or the favor I do or the treat I treat them to means something to them…even if they’re pretending.” Honey, dont worry everything gets better.

  2. I’ve followed for a while but haven’t commeneted until now. I hope that you have found that people read you here that don’t get all judgemental about your profession and I bet that many more in your real world wouldn’t either. You may want to see if you can get comfortable with telling more people. People will be curious, but they are for any interesting job that they don’t have experience with. And yes, binging on veggies does count. It is much better than eating crap, but too many of anything isn’t great for ya.

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