A Revolving Door

Last post when I talked about the emptiness that we use food to fill in a literal, figurative and also metaphorical sense, I never really came to a solution. And that's because I don't have one. Yes, we eat and use food to fill an emptiness, but guess what? I've lost 90 pounds. Clearly, I'm not using food to fill an emptiness inside myself anymore. But, am I cured? Not at all.

In fact, I'm only beginning to realize exactly how "not cured" I am. At first, I asked myself, "Well, if I've got the eating under control, why do I still feel this way?" I've found, at least for me, when I give up one, lets call it a vice, I end up picking up another one. It's almost as if I have given up food as comfort for every emotion from sadness to anger to contentment to bordom and have substituted men and sex instead. I've really noticed this over the past 6 weeks or so. I really understand the word unsatiable now. It's never enough. I have realized, of course, the danger in continuing down the path I seem to be taking, and have decided to find some other outlet for emotion.

Yes, I've been damaged by bad relationships in the past that I probably wouldn't have been in, in the first place but for my mom and my reaction to her words, actions and inactions throughout my life. So, it all ties together. I'm hurting. And it's not about the food. And it's not about the sex. Or the abundance of or lack thereof of either.

Nothing is going to take the place of the fantisized, idealized, June Cleaver meets Addison Montgomery that I so creatively have concocted in my head as the person I would mold my mom into if I could. But, that's not even fair to say. I just don't think she gets it. I don't think she understands how I feel, or we feel (if anyone is reading this nodding their heads).

The brutally honest truth about me and how I view myself in relation to the world and in relation to my mom? When I was a child, my mom had to control every aspect of everything. It was her way or no way. Both of my parents work(ed) and I spent most afternoons at my grandparents or at home with the housekeeper. I was very jealous when I'd go to a friends house after school and their mom was home and we would all do art projects together, or whatever. Anyway, as I grew older, I became more difficult, presumably in an effort to be noticed, for lack of a better word. Well, I was then, in my opinion, mis-diagnosed as being ADHD.

And then came the school counselors, and the shrink, and the "plans", and all of this other stuff that I had to do to "stay on track". The worst of which was in high school. I had to get this piece of paper signed each week by all of my teachers that indicated whether or not I had done my homework, classwork and behaved during class. This made me stand out in high school, and not in the cheerleader way. Well, the deal with my parents (it wasn't a deal, I didn't agree, this is just the way it was), was that if I got my sheet signed and had completed my homework for the week, I would be free on weekends. If not, I would be grounded that weekend.

Well, obviously I hated getting the sheet signed, so I would either not get it signed or not do the homework, rendering getting the sheet signed pointless since I'd be grounded anyway. And so the cycle continued for about 4 years. High school was a tough time for me because of that. I missed out on many things. I did not have a lot of friends. Didn't feel the need to make any since I wouldn't be hanging out with them. I hated class. I hated home. I hated life. I had one tiny light at the end of a very very dark tunnel. And that was summer. That was camp. I was a camp counselor. One of the best, in my opinion. I just have to laugh, actually, at the time, I decided not to kill myself because then the kids would not have a good summer since I would not be there and I make or break the summer experience at camp. Hey, whatever gets ya through the day, right?

Wow, I really went off on a tangent. It's ok. I've been meaning to get that all down on "paper" for a while. Anyway, back to the revolving door and emptiness, etc. I think I don't have a solution as to what fills the emptiness that I feel and so many others do. If it's not one vice it's another.