Thursday, February 23, 2006


Not the results of the happy harbinger hormone surges, heavens no. More the obsessive need to ruminate and move the jaws without grinding the teeth, to dull sharp feelings, to pad the body in anticipation of further attack.

I guess I could dull the hurt by drinking; as a friend puts it, it'd be up in keeping with an august family tradition. That's always been an option as I do like my drink: red wine in particular with vinho verde running a close second. I could let the glass a night turn into two, three, even four, but I don't. I think it's because, always having been a heavy girl, I worry about calories and would rather eat than drink mine.

The body and the mind have been under a lot of stress the past year or two: recycling family-related problems are added to relationship, financial and work problems. Back in the beginning, the running and the dancing helped; then came the injury which put an end to all that (albeit temporarily for the dancing, anyway). It was during that time when the nervous eating started again. Anything I could stuff in my face, I would - sushi, potato chips, plain pasta, kid's breakfast cereal. I'd feel bloated and tired and sick afterwards, but never full. Am proud to say, though, that I never took the occasion to stick my fingers down my throat this time around. I may have gained a ton, but, by gum, my tooth enamel is still intact.

I'd learned my lesson with that. People notice: one day while having one of those impromptu meetings in the building's stairway, I forgot myself and made a gesture. My coworker, a short, rotund woman in her mid fifties grabbed my hand and started examining my fingernails. "Are you bulimic?" she asked. (gig's up!) "Uhh, no?" I answered, "I've always had problems with absorbing nutrients...ridgy nails run in the family." "Sorry," she answered, not convinced at all. "It's just that I am. Well, I'm recovering. Mine are a mess." She patted my hand, let it go and showed me her nails: what weren't bitten down were all spotty and had ridges like the Great Rift Valley. "I could get a manicure, as they are pretty ugly, but I want to have a reminder of what making myself puke does to me. Had to pay a fortune to get the teeth fixed. Ate the surfaces clean off." She laughed pretty happily, I laughed uncomfortably, we both headed our own ways.

I won't throw up, I won't get drunk, but I will get fat again if I don't find my way out of this funk. It feels pretty dark right now. I do my cardio kickboxing, I walk as fast as I can for two hours a day, I practice shimmies and backbends. Still not enough to combat the caloric intake or the pounds. I'm trying to knit me a spring sweater in a reasonable size in the hopes that when I see the beautiful thing (and it is nice - shelved the wool one for a pretty cabled cotton tank), I'll be so in love with it. A small motivation factor, but a factor nonetheless.

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