We stood in the kitchen as we talked about what we were and weren’t going to do. They were healthy choices we decided would be necessary to maintain sanity in the next year. I stared at her as she talked, analyzing every inch of her. She had really grown up. Although I’m only 16 months older, sometimes I can see a world of difference between us. But according to others, we’re simply the same present in different packaging.
She caught my attention, “it’s a violence against myself…” I looked at her, opened mouth as though she had called me every name but a child of God. She asked what was wrong. Her simple statement meant more than I had expected. As the days continue on I realize I commit many violences against myself.
We slept together almost every night and as apart of our routine, he left at midnight to ride the trains to work without problem. As usual he woke me up. Leaving to use the bathroom, I was left alone. A moment later I found myself holding the wall, dizziness took over my body and I felt it trying to reject everything I had eaten earlier. I knocked on the door, telling him I didn’t feel well. He watched as the sweat pour down my head. He left, grabbed me bread as I felt well enough to stand again. I picked at it. End pieces. My least favorite. I went back to my room after he left, made a PB&J and contemplated my life.
Fatigue had laced it’s hands with mine. We often danced during my shifts at work. Although I love food, I put off eating far more often than I’d like to admit. An unhealthy habit that’s plagued me for years. I put it off until my body is too weak to complain about it. The only warning I pay attention to is when I’m no longer able to hold myself together emotionally. I’ve exhausted myself trying to maintain the energy to stand. The dam that holds my feelings in behind to crack.
I commit violences against myself far more often than I’d be proud to admit. One no better than another. Lately it’s just been my diet. This week I’ve eaten a lot of cereal. Last week it was fast food. Whatever I could find in a quick moment would be in my stomach not too long after. Things I swore I’d stop eating but somehow picked up again. Bad habits. Penny pinching in the wrong spots and spending what I don’t have subsequently lead to this yet I never paused to change it. Sliced apples, pretzels, and cubed cheese fit for a child fill my stomach.
You know, it’s silly. I don’t know where this started. I just know I use working, being busy, as a reason not to do something I actually enjoy. I plan meals so far ahead of time, telling anyone who will listen what I have up my sleeve. This week pasta and red sauce. I selected ground turkey and turkey sausages for a different flavor. I can almost taste it on my tongue. I enjoy food. Trying new places. Different combinations. Yet I can’t muster the courage to be honest that I make our relationship unhealthy. I’ve been like this for years. Letting books, games, conversations bring pause to what should be a healthy life.
Every day I remind myself and others that this is the year of self love and care so why am I starving myself to meet goals that can wait 20 minutes while I eat? I feel the hypocrisy in my simple steps. I took a nutrition class one year and I left knowing how many carbs I needed and why. The amount of protein and fat that would help create a smooth running body. I know what happens to my body when I don’t take proper care. Yet I still have to remind myself to eat. I’m honest in my actions when I tell people their ideas about diets are wrong. That they need carbs for their body to function as smoothly. But I don’t eat every meal the way I should. I know to eat a rainbow diet and I try to when I finally sit down for my lunch, 2 hours after my body has already sent me messages to eat. I’m a hypocrite.
It’s the year of self love and care. The year I mend my relationship with food and give myself the chance to eat the way I should have been for years. No more violences against myself.