I have some mini-neuroses concerning eating. Whenever I share food with Richard, I must have the last bite. I’m not sure why, but I feel some undercurrent of deprivation and panic if I don’t get the last bite. Sometimes even when I’m eating something alone I feel a strange, quiet panic when I take my last bite. It’s like there’s a screaming baby inside me, demanding more food, but the baby is a mile away and can barely be heard. This may sound amusing, but it’s not. It’s a really unpleasant experience and part of my daily existence, although I don’t usually pay it attention.
Yesterday I was standing at the kitchen sink, eating ice cream from its container and staring out the window into the neighbor’s yard. The sun was out and I felt pleasant and calm. I decided I had had enough ice cream and took my last bite, but instead of feeling panic, I felt a sense of excitement about how good the ice cream was. The fact that this was my last bite, but I could have more later if I wanted it, made the last bite especially pleasurable to eat. It was like enjoying seduction by ice cream, instead of being angry that ice cream is tempting in the first place.
The experience of noticing this deviation from my usual thought pattern felt like a gift.
These are actually important moments for me; they mark the steps of my journey from “Batshit Crazy” to “100% Pure Jess”.
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