Sweet Morsel of Magic

Have you ever had a large meal and after eating it, your stomach protruded and literally hurt from fullness? Did that fullness make you feel so uncomfortable that you couldn’t sit still, you couldn’t lay down, you couldn’t move without feeling miserable and you wouldn’t dare think about putting another bite of food in your mouth. I, too, have felt that sort of fullness but if I wait 2-5 minutes I know I will want more. Especially if the food was pleasing to my senses!

Food gives me satisfaction. It’s the one constant in my life I have all the control over yet no control over at all. Stripping me of that control and having to tell myself I can’t eat this or that just because I have no limits is heart-wrenching to me. I become furious just thinking about driving past the Dairy Queen during the summer and having to see the skinny families standing in line with their skinny kids and their skinny dogs in their skinny cars eating their fat ice creams and chubby parfaits. I just gained 15 pounds writing that. I’m food sensitive. I swear to it. My youngest daughter is 5 foot nothing and 98 pounds. When she got her first tattoo, she asked to hold my hand. Her petite and tiny hand attempting to squeeze my ginormous hand was comical and sad in the same breath. She’s always talking to me about how the double size zeros are too loose. God bless her. The child eats and her body refuses to gain an ounce. Just inhaling the smells of food cause me to gain.

But alas, I have no shame. I’m not a closet eater. I give no real care. I will merrily and happily eat as much as I want in front of whoever I want. If I want to down an entire pie without sharing, I will do so. This could be my curse or blessing. I hate fighting with myself over what I should eat and what I shouldn’t eat because God forbid I eat an apple on Tuesday at 3 pm after consuming caffeine but not before a kale smoothie because Keto enzymes in the blood flood are bad. Seriously, someone punch me in the face. It’s no joke hard work eating healthy. I don’t feel as comforted with “healthier food”. Don’t get me wrong, healthy food makes me feel good in the long run. But the immediate results I get from sugar and the taste from certain fats from fried food is where I find comfort, safety, warmth, and relaxation. I can take out 6 king-sized candy bars in one sitting (evening). And I’m sure the count could be higher, this is just as much as I purchased. It’s impossible to tell myself, “Stop. Listen to your body.” or “How about an apple?” or “Try water.” There’s no way in hell I’m NOT going to allow myself to enjoy this. This is MINE. I’m becoming agitated now just thinking about. So I eat it – bypass everything I feel – and enjoy every single slow moment with the sweet morsel of magic.

My Safety Shell

Oh Tonia! You are so pretty. I look down at the floor as if to feel ashamed. “Thank you,” I say politely. You know those kids, teens, and adults that model clothing sales in your local ads? Well, one of them was me. I remember the embarrassment when one of the women said, “This is for maternity. Let’s stuff this pillow in.” Looking back now, she was paying me a compliment without knowing.

I married years later, popped out a few kids, and got comfortable enough in my relationship to no longer care what my body looked like. The compliments dwindled down to “Oh Tonia! You have such a pretty face.”

A few more years later and I gain even more weight. The compliments have ceased and I take a breath of relief. It’s not that I didn’t appreciate the feedback people gave me. I truly did because they didn’t have to say anything at all. But I cringed inside when I heard them. “What do you want from me?” “You are JUST being polite and don’t really mean that.” Inside I feel my gut turn and my heart race. It takes everything I have not to scream out, “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” But that wouldn’t be very lady-like of me, now would it?

Perhaps it was the conditioning and abuse. Years of molestation by many different people damaged me beyond belief. I was tainted. I was dirty. I was no longer whole. I kept my secret for many years. It ate at me like a worm to an apple. It took over my core and left me feeling bitter, angry, and unsure. To hear someone compliment me on my looks made me cringe and I have my abusers to thank for that. When I finally did tell a family member they scolded me for not telling sooner. What the fuck did you want me to do when I didn’t trust anyone? The adults in my life betrayed me and I was taught to respect them. Thank you sexual molesters for ruining my life, oh by the way, here is your dosage of respect. It was much easier to just get fat. It has become my shell and well, I’m comfortable here.

I will definitely cover more of this later. But for right now, leave me to my donuts of despair.