Walking through King’s yesterday, I remember how overwhelming supermarkets used to be for me. All the aisles and aisles of food, almost of all of which I never allowed myself.
Imagine being terrified to eat?
Standing in Kings, I remembered how any connection to food triggered an anxiety attack. Walking through the cookbook department in Barnes & Noble; strolling by restaurants on the streets of Manhattan; a dinner party…the list was endless as food is everywhere.
I lived a teeny tiny life, based around starving. I waited longingly for the moment that I’d be so hungry I’d finally allow myself to eat something – a little something.
I wrote long, longing lists of all the foods I wouldn’t let myself eat, and I’d dream of a day when I might have them.
So I wouldn’t be tempted to eat, I stayed in most of the time.
For years, I didn’t allow myself any caloric beverages – only black coffee and diet soda made my list. Eventually, I decided to include white wine, enabling me to do something at parties, other than eat. And then alcohol, of course, became a big problem.
Starving lead to binging and purging. For another post.
What a miserable, lonely life.