The impulse crawls over me like a thousand little spiders. One minute, I'm eating slowly, thoughtfully. Nourishing myself. The next, I can barely taste the food anymore, but not a part of me cares. I bite greedily, I chew quickly. I swallow. My eyes flutter: the experience is opioid.(more) I bite again.
It only occurred to me that this behavior might be disordered when my formerly bulimic friend talked about her binge eating, about how she felt triggered by watching her boyfriend slowly eating stacks of pancakes in front of her after she finished her (small) meal.
"That's rude," I said. "He quit smoking last year, didn't he? How would he like it if I started chain-smoking in front of him, talking about how good it was?"
"Maybe I should explain it like that," she said, and sighed. "Maybe he just doesn't get it."
We discussed intuitive eating and the principles of honoring your hunger, your fullness, your body. How to be mindful of the taste of food, how to feel out when you really wanted to eat something versus when you were eating it anyway.
The next morning, I meditated on those concepts over a medium light roast and a stack of Dutch butter cookies. I don't know if it was defiance, or if I just especially savored the way the cookies melted into a potent mess of butter and sugar on my tongue that day, but I finished every one.(less)
my fingers move across your skin, one by one, like spiders limbs, and you don't turn to look at me, you don't glance up from the t.v., and i'm the spider fast and sleek, with deadly eyes, too many feet, but the web i'm in is not my own,(more) you don't even want your silver throne,(less)
I'm convinced there's a good joke somewhere in the fact that God gives us diseases we can't pronounce, but I've never been able to work it out.
I didn't know I had lymph nodes until they decided to start killing me. Apparently we all have these tubes o(more)r wires or whatever running all through our armpits and neck and privates area, and the tubes carry the white blood cells that fight diseases and whatnot. But when the pumps in the tubes get swollen
The doctor showed me a picture that was like an x-ray but different, and it showed these knotted lines all through the body -- my body, I guess. I said they looked like spiderwebs. He pointed at areas that looked kind of like clouds but more solid, wispy, and they matched where I was sore. I remember saying if the tubes were the spiderwebs, these were the big bundles of eggs, hatching and letting the little baby spiders out.
Truth be told, I couldn't tell you exactly what I've got. I knew I was sick and I knew it was serious, but I remember being so focused on how the doctor pronounced the words confidently, like he'd been practicing before I came into his office, and that made me more scared than whatever was going on inside my body.
I wasn't really scared until people started saying I looked thin and sickly. I was never a smart man, but I was always a strong one, and a kind one, and a patient one. But this disease, whatever it's called, is taking all of that. I'm tired. I've got no time for telemarketers and Jehovah's Witnesses. I'm not polite. I'm so angry and bitter and lonely and scared, and I can't even tell you what I'm scared of.(less)