Pressure...

I write for a couple of hours at Inman Perk and feel quite productive this morning despite the anxiety that is brewing under my skin. It’s Sunday and I want to enjoy my day. I’m meeting a friend for coffee this afternoon. I love her, I do. She’s been an amazing friend, she just likes to push food at me. I haven’t even gotten to the coffee shop yet and already I’m feeling the pressure of having to either eat to quiet her or to constantly protest and say no a thousand times, feeling my resolve melt away and giving in anyway. There are times when I want to scream “You wouldn’t ask an alcoholic to drink right?! Don’t ask me to eat! It‘s the same thing!” I have forgotten what it’s like to have my body tell me I need food. I barely remember what it’s like to be hungry. I’m trying so hard to change this. Sometimes I can’t tell what’s worse, giving in and eating or going against what my addict self wants and saying no, which right now, feels unnatural and uncomfortable.
I don’t deal well with change. I have a hard time admitting that. Even if it’s good change, or something I sparked, I have a hard time with it. That compounded with the pressure I’m anticipating from my friend has me steering my car to Whole Foods where I pick up some grapes. And cookies. I see what I’m doing. I see that it’s not helping the situation, but do it anyways. It’ll quiet my head, if only for a few minutes before the guilt settles in.
All three chocolate chip cookies are gone before I get home. I walk to my room and find some clothes for running. I’m trying not to give anymore attention to what I just ate. One day, I’ll get tired of it. As I pull my shirt over my head I burst into tears. I stand in the middle of my room and cry until the emotion subsides and I finish getting dressed.
I gather up my iPOD and keys and head outside, thinking “What would Rob tell me right now?” I can almost hear is voice. He’d say “You worry too much. You’re beautiful.” As I turn the corner and run down N. Highland I see a shiny white Mercedes with a South Carolina tag on it. My eyes flood again but I swallow the tears and keep going. I make it to Freedom Park and run through that, feeling a heaviness on my shoulders. I think about Rae’s words earlier last week about this whole thing being bigger than me. I’m almost starting to grasp it. It’s this heaviness that comes every now and then, flooding my head. I have a hard time describing it. It’s fleeting and always leaves me in tears. My legs feel like lead as the warm liquid runs down my cheeks. They take over involuntarily though, still moving, one foot in front of the other, letting my head absorb whatever it is that’s making me cry.
I make it home and in the shower a little while later, feeling better. My mind goes back to the food, assuring myself I’m able to simply do what I want. No one is going to tell me when to eat. I get dressed and meet my friend. Instantaneously, it starts.
“All you’re having is coffee? Black coffee?”
“Yup.” It’s decaf also.
“You don’t want a muffin?”
“Nope.”
“Are you sure?” she continues.
I usually eat a muffin or a cookie when I’m at this particular shop.
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to get one. Will you split it with me?”
“Nope.” I reply, although that’s tempting. I remind my self I have enough sugar swimming around in my stomach right now.
“Come on! Not even a cookie?”
Hell no.
I shake my head.
“Melissa! You have to eat something!”
I don’t.
“I ate already.” I’m trying to keep my responses simple.
“Are you afraid of the calories?” she asks.
“No, it’s just that I’m not hungry.” I reply getting tired of this game. She knows I go to OA and why. It’s not about calories or diets or weight. It’s about paying attention to your body, feeling all your emotions without trying to suppress them with food. Or other substances for that matter.
“You don’t have to eat a lot.”
That’s where it starts…
“I have a problem!” I finally remind her.
“I know. It’s not like you have to binge.” she replies.
I don’t binge in front of people. It all happens when I’m completely alone, after whatever it is that I experienced to stress me out. I haven’t gone on one in over six months and I don’t plan on starting now. I don’t say anything.
“It’s almost lunchtime. You need to eat.”
“Not hungry.”
“So you’re just going to wait until you are?” she asks as if this is a new concept.
I nod.
“When is that going to be?”
“I don’t know!” I snap.
The subject is finally dropped and we enjoy the rest of our time together. I still feel antsy though. I can’t sit still. I get tired of questions. It’s all the same. “How are you really?”, “Are you dating?”. “What about Chicago?” I know people ask because they care. I’m happy people care, I’d just like for them to think first. How am I? I don’t have a clue and I’ve been saying that for 8 weeks now. Am I dating? Are you serious?! I can’t handle that. Although…even though the idea of going on an actual date petrifies me right now, I still want sex. I still want that closeness with someone. I don’t want to share words but kisses, not share dinner but skin, no thoughts communicated but the heaviness of another body on mine. I still want to be touched and to physically feel love. I miss affection so much it consumes me at times.
And Chicago? I’m not ruling it out by any means. I’ll be in Atlanta through Christmas and that’s all I got right now. New Years will come and I’ll see how I feel after that. I can only handle so many life changes at one time. I’m done trying to plan and anticipate what’s going to happen with my life. I felt anxiety when I was trying to move before Rob’s accident. I knew something would keep me here despite my best efforts to leave but I didn’t know what it was. It had me acting rabid trying to figure out the “right” way to handle the situation as far as interviews, move dates, money etc. Fuck all that. The whole plan went straight to hell in a single moment. I’m frustrated because it’s like something is keeping me here and I want to spread out and leave but I still feel anchored right where I am but I don’t know why.
I am constantly reminded by my sweet friend that everything will be ok. I know this.
“Is it any better? Anything? Do you feel any better?” she asks.
“Not better, just different.” I reply.
She reminds me one more time that it’s going to be ok. I feel people tell me this because they perceive that I’m not doing well. I am ok. I will get through this but please, please, please, let me have my tears, my erratic moods, my random bouts of happiness and laughing, my days of constant sleeping, or none at all. Let me have my feelings and know that yes, everything is ok