I loathe shopping. I especially dislike shopping inside a large mall. After about an hour I lose the will to live. There is however, one exception and that is shopping for food. I am passionate about this pastime. I get this feeling of total euphoria, a zone of inner contentment that borders on obsessional. My interest is especially piqued when I am in a foreign country or in an unfamiliar or uncharted food market. I can literally spend hours wandering the aisles not just looking at the merchandise but as a paying consumer, happy to spend a small fortune on her passion. I use the word ‘ consumer ‘ with irony because I rarely consume any of the foods I buy. My store cupboards, fridge and freezer are groaning with excess food. For the most part the products are generally healthy and within certain parameters I have laid down. Despite this, I periodically have to dig deep into these treasure troves and discard all items that have long since defied the boundaries of science by existing beyond their expiry date. If I have no intention of actually eating any of these foods, then why do I not only have to purchase them but I also have to buy several different flavours or types of the same food, like cereal, biscuits or ice cream? Take ice cream for example. I have about 8 flavours in my freezer at any given time. I actually do partake in this essentially unhealthy food. Whats more, I enjoy it. This relatively normal practice is completely negated by the minuscule amounts that I allow myself. If I have more than 3 teaspoons in a sitting, then I have overdone it. My self control is so rigid and regimented that I literally will just allow myself to taste a ‘ forbidden ‘ food and convince myself that this is sufficient to sate my inherent desire for the pleasure it promises to deliver. I have adopted this behaviour for so long now that I have no sense of what consitutes a normal portion of food. Whilst I may espouse that I don’t deprive myself of any food I desire, yet the amounts I consume are so small that despite eating healthily , I don’t eat enough to be adequately or properly nourished.
As disturbing this must seem on one level, what is more of a problem for me and is at the root of this addictive and repetitive behaviour , is the fact that I partake in my ice cream and other food rituals every single day. It is not only that I eat the same foods, day in and day out with little variation, but it is also the manner in which I consume foods: The exact time of day; the order I eat things in; the way I prepare my food; the crockery and cutlery I use – all of it is meticulously applied in the exact way that it was the previous day. I have become an automaton – I don’t have to think or plan anything – its as easy and natural to me as breathing. Intellectually I know that I have major issues with food but I am seemingly powerless to change this behaviour or to relinquish the hold this has over me. I question whether I am addicted to the food or whether the rituals pose more of a problem. Is it the thought of the rituals being removed or the thought of giving up certain foods that creates this panic in me? Obviously my physical appearance plays a huge rule because I have an abnormal fear of putting on weight , of being ‘ fat ‘. This is another deep rooted phobia that goes way back due to subliminal messages being fed ( the word again ) to me by a fat-phobic mother. This warrants some exploration perhaps at another time methinks. Would it be easier for me to to deal with the rituals if I gave up food altogether like one would do when trying to come off drugs or alcohol? Obviously, where food is concerned this isn’t an option hence it being such a difficult issue to treat.
It is when what used to be a necessary coping mechanism and strategy is no longer serving its intended purpose any more that one can begin to entertain the prospect that change is now necessary. But knowledge and practice are not always willing bedmates and so a likely battle is now on the cards. Just putting this down in black and white helps to draw my attention to how restricted and bound I truly am – what a slave I am to my choices and how many years I have lost to my eating disorder. Does this mean that I can start to walk away? From past experience, sadly, no. The key is to grab onto any hope in this regard and to build on the momentum instead of back-sliding even further until there comes a day when you just don’t care any more and you cross over the line to total obscurity.
