Food, Sparklies, Love...

The next day, April 21st, I’m up at 6am then went back to sleep until 8am. When I wake up my mind’s eye is remembering fringes of a dream. Something about an ocean, or beach with lots of people…
Jeff is awake as well and we’re inches from each other’s faces, staring at each other.
“How are you?” he asks quietly.
“I don’t know.” I exhale. I explain that I could sleep forever. I tell him about the times in Atlanta when working for Van Michael I slept on one occasion for 16 hours and another for 18 hours. I seriously only got up for food and the bathroom. I forgot about anything and everything. I think my body was trying to tell me something at that time…I haven’t done it since but today, I totally feel I could fall into that.
I don’t want to though. I don’t want to sleep for an entire day. I don’t want to avoid my feelings by drifting off like that. I sit up and climb on him, back straight, hands pressed on his stomach. My mouth opens and out pours the events of today two years ago. I tell him about having mom’s car, about the idea of me renting one because of my accident not crossing my mind because Rob died so soon after that and how dad asked why I didn’t rent one and I felt myself nearly exploding but held it in because, well, he was just asking a question. I told him about going to buy my diamond band, about talking to the woman who sold it to me, about how she pulled three rings from their stockroom and when I saw the ring I bought something in me jumped and I “knew” that was the one I had to have. It felt as if Rob had picked it out for me. I shared with him about buying the “Saving Abel” CD after that. I told him too about waking up that day and trying to eat granola but couldn’t. I stared at the wall for a while before texting Nathan at 6:45am asking if he was awake. I told Jeff about meeting up with Nathan later, and telling him everything while sitting in his truck in the Wendy’s parking lot that afternoon after having lunch with my family and about the dream he shared with me that he had the night before.
I talk and talk and talk until I feel the tears behind my eyes threatening to fall. I stopped talking and folded forward, resting my cheek on Jeff’s chest allowing a couple of tears to escape but pushing the rest back in. He’s said before he’s surprised I don’t cry in front of him. I can’t. I don’t know why. The urge is there. At one point, briefly, and only right after Rob died I was able to cry in front of people. After that I hid in the bathroom at work to let it out and once I moved to Chicago for whatever reason I found the tears falling on Division street or Milwaukee Ave, or in the Evanston bathroom. Sometimes they would emerge while taking a shower or at Charlie’s but now? I keep it all tucked away.
There is no explanation for it besides fear. I’m scared that I’m too much for people. That I need too much, want to much, feel too much. I’m scared to let my grief in when it wants attention. I don’t know how to give it space anymore. It’s changed so much in the past two years. I also don’t know how to deal with people’s reactions to it. Charlie couldn’t take it and Jeff? He’s at least open to hearing me, but again, I’m scared of sharing too much. I don’t want my past experience to take away from the current experience. That being said I don’t know how to let them coexist.
We’re both hungry. Once we’re up, Jeff makes coffee and we both make oatmeal. I end up finishing mine before he’s done cooking his. One of his roommates comes in the kitchen and we chat about her sewing endeavors. I adore this girl and all her beautiful, delicateness. I envy the way she gracefully conducts herself.
Jeff makes more coffee and we take it into his living room, sitting on a couch by a large window. We’ve had some pretty amazing conversations here. I love how calm I am when in his presence and in his space.
I unleash more stuff that I’ve held in since Charlie and I broke up. Jeff quietly listens and I feel better for having it off my chest. Eventually he gets in the shower and I pull out my sparklies while his roommates watch a movie. I feel good for working on my jewelry in front of people. I usually keep this stuff private, only letting people see the final product. No one sees the process.
Jeff joins us later and after a while we decide it’s time to get food for lunch. I put everything away and go to the store with him picking out peanut butter, bread and an apple. He wants spaghetti.
Back at his place I carefully and slowly as possible make a sandwich with the groceries while he cooks the pasta. I try to remember I need to do what I need to do for myself. I’m feeling insecure about food lately. I hate eating while he’s cooking but hate waiting too. In the past with whomever I’ve been with, I go along with whatever they want and eat whenever and whatever they want. This time around I’m trying to ask myself what is it I want, what will make me feel good and go with that. It’s excruciating though with this disorder plus wanting to share everything, including food and the experience of making it with Jeff. So much is centered around eating that it’s enough to make my head spin until I can’t see straight.
Later, I finish the earrings I started for the girl at Lovely and pack up to leave for OA.
“I have no idea why it feels so good to do this once a week for only an hour but it does.” I tell Jeff.
“You’re doing something for yourself.” he explains.
I never thought about it that way. We agree to meet up at my place when I’m done.
The meeting is small. I share about slipping up this week with eating too much for several days in a row but not about Rob. I was on the fence about sharing about him but when the time came, I decided not to.
On my way home, I stop at Whole Foods for a salad to take home. Jeff gets to my place shortly after I do. We sit on the couch, him with a glass of water, me with the salad. Three bites in and I want to put it away and forget I even bought it. I don’t want to eat in front of him. I remind myself that he’s not judging me and take another bite. Chew. Swallow. I hate this. I want to stop, but I’m hungry and entitled to dinner. Chew. Swallow. Why is he watching me? I’m disgusting. Chew. Swallow. I’m going to tear my skin off. Chew. Swallow.
“Whatcha thinking’? he asks, breaking my concentration.
“I’m getting squirrelly.”
“Why? Because of food?”
I nod.
“I’m not thinking anything. You just need to let it go.”
“Don’t you tell me what I need to let go of… or how to feel!” I snap, southern accent intact. I was half joking (because I know he doesn’t mean to tell me anything) half serious (because I’m not ok with being told to let go of anything) but he took me seriously. The expression on his face looked like I had just slapped him.
“Well then.” he took his hand off my knee where it had been resting.
We were silent until I finally said that I’m deeply embarrassed that I have a problem with food. Normal people can eat when they’re hungry and stop when they’re full. They can eat what they want and think nothing of it. I can’t do these things. I’m extremely sensitive to it. If I could let go, I would. If I could be normal, I would be but this is what it is right now.
My roommate comes home. Jeff and I retreat to my room where he explains that he feels I’m looping him in with everyone else in my life that tells me to let go of things.
I stare at him trying to turn over his words in my head and see where he’s coming from instead of unleashing rage that has nothing to do with him on his sweet self.
“I didn’t like how you were so quick to crack the whip on me. I wish you would have thought before speaking.”
I explain that I was trying to remain calm the whole time I was eating, although he didn’t know that and his comment sent me over the edge. I snapped because I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
I’ve never had someone watch me as much as Jeff does. I love his attention, I do, it just for me, brings attention to every move I’m making and I get nervous always fearing that I’m doing something “wrong” or “unattractive”.
We settle down and end up changing the subject. It feels good to calmly, rationally talk through something with someone and know that in the end, it’s all ok.