The Binge
I just ate a bowl of ice cream. No, not ricecream, not lactose-free anything, real, neopolitan ice cream. With chocolate syrup on top to boot. Uuuuuugh. I'm gonna feel so sick. That was really stupid, but at least I know why I did it.
Sometimes I'm dumb and eat dairy products just because I get really weak-willed and I crave them because I don't keep up with getting enough calcium. That was not the case here. Today, I couldn't do anything else to release my anger. Everyone at the dinner table was critical, competitive, corrective, and snappy. It started with Nathaniel.
He and my dad were going back and forth as to why there was inadequate hearing protection for men in the navy during WWII (that's why my grandfather doesn't hear well; he was right by the big guns and no one gave him any plugs or anything). And of course, the stupid jerk Nathaniel is, he had to win. He got his angry, intense face on and attacked. I was sooooo aggravated, but I held my tongue. Getting verbally exasperated at him was not an option around my mother. Overly-protective freak.
But when he left, his trenchant "I-must-win" attitude stayed. Mom and dad and I went back and forth on something stupid. I was getting a headache. Then my mom brings IT up again. The same thing she brings up every night after dinner.
"You didn't eat your meat. Didn't you like it?"
"Mom, it was fine, I'm just not a big fan of beef."
"But I worked so hard..."
"Mom, it's nothing personal. Why do I have to tell you this every night? I just don't like meat that much these days; you know that. You just cook for Dad and don't worry about me. I can get something else later if I need to."
"You don't like my cooking... blah blah"
My last nerve breaks at this point.
"Mom, look, if it'll make you happy, just don't fix anything for me and I'll get something for myself later. If you want me to still be here, I can sit and eat nothing while you and Dad chow down, okay? Why is this still an issue?!"
But, of course, Mom had to win and used the classic Mom escape, "Look, just drop it, okay!" Meanwhile I thought, 'But you're the one who won't drop it, Mom, you bring it up every single frickin' night. Why won't you just answer me straight up? Why is this really an issue? If you just told me, we could talk it out and solve it. Why don't you just TELL ME ANYTHING?'
I left the dinner table still hungry. I gave Zoey a bone and watched her eat it outside. I tried talking to her about it, but it did nothing for me. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't, because our great involved "community" of a neighborhood. At that moment, all the things that have been driving me crazy just welled up in me. Things like all these stupid restrictions on the internet and cable (mainly hours of operation) Dad had to put up because Nathaniel is an irresponsible brat. I keep watching TV at night and just when I finally find something good to watch and get really into it, the TV goes black and demands a code to continue. Well, I don't know the code; not even Mom does. And Dad (the code-master) is asleep and would kill me for waking him up. So much constant fail. All because of Nate.
I couldn't jam to loud metal after tonight's incident because my dad was back in his office working, and writing wouldn't suffice for this level of frustration. I couldn't say a word to anyone without getting bitched at. So I opened the freezer and took out my one release, my one tolerable rebellion in this house: ice cream. Don't get me wrong, I thought there was still some lactose-free left, but there wasn't. And once my mind is set on ice cream, there's no turning back. So I ate some. I feel like a cutter, except instead of using blades, I use food allergies. Soon my emotional anguish will become physical and perhaps after I suffer through that, I will find release. Sweet, sweet relief.
No wonder I was fat in high school; I had to be perfect and perfectly studious with no time for me, and binging is the only coping mechanism tolerated in my parents' house. Even talking is shunned because I can't talk to my mom and if my mom hears me having a lot of private conversations with dad (especially those that involve my crying), she gets upset and feels left out. Even talking with a friend on the phone isn't without consequence; if mom knows I'm upset, she prods and grills until she feels "clued in." Then there goes my privacy and my sanity, or any semblance thereof.
Uuuugh. There goes my stomach. So... queasy... uuuuuuuuuuuuuugh. Yes, I'm stupid, but please pray for me. I don't want to make a habit of this again or I'll be huge in no time. And then I might go the opposite extreme again and... oh I am 12 flavors of fail tonight. *gives up* I can't wait to go back to college. Can I just stay there this time instead of coming home for the summer at all? Oh wait, I have three weddings to be in, one of which I am the maid of honor. DX FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIL.
Sometimes I'm dumb and eat dairy products just because I get really weak-willed and I crave them because I don't keep up with getting enough calcium. That was not the case here. Today, I couldn't do anything else to release my anger. Everyone at the dinner table was critical, competitive, corrective, and snappy. It started with Nathaniel.
He and my dad were going back and forth as to why there was inadequate hearing protection for men in the navy during WWII (that's why my grandfather doesn't hear well; he was right by the big guns and no one gave him any plugs or anything). And of course, the stupid jerk Nathaniel is, he had to win. He got his angry, intense face on and attacked. I was sooooo aggravated, but I held my tongue. Getting verbally exasperated at him was not an option around my mother. Overly-protective freak.
But when he left, his trenchant "I-must-win" attitude stayed. Mom and dad and I went back and forth on something stupid. I was getting a headache. Then my mom brings IT up again. The same thing she brings up every night after dinner.
"You didn't eat your meat. Didn't you like it?"
"Mom, it was fine, I'm just not a big fan of beef."
"But I worked so hard..."
"Mom, it's nothing personal. Why do I have to tell you this every night? I just don't like meat that much these days; you know that. You just cook for Dad and don't worry about me. I can get something else later if I need to."
"You don't like my cooking... blah blah"
My last nerve breaks at this point.
"Mom, look, if it'll make you happy, just don't fix anything for me and I'll get something for myself later. If you want me to still be here, I can sit and eat nothing while you and Dad chow down, okay? Why is this still an issue?!"
But, of course, Mom had to win and used the classic Mom escape, "Look, just drop it, okay!" Meanwhile I thought, 'But you're the one who won't drop it, Mom, you bring it up every single frickin' night. Why won't you just answer me straight up? Why is this really an issue? If you just told me, we could talk it out and solve it. Why don't you just TELL ME ANYTHING?'
I left the dinner table still hungry. I gave Zoey a bone and watched her eat it outside. I tried talking to her about it, but it did nothing for me. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't, because our great involved "community" of a neighborhood. At that moment, all the things that have been driving me crazy just welled up in me. Things like all these stupid restrictions on the internet and cable (mainly hours of operation) Dad had to put up because Nathaniel is an irresponsible brat. I keep watching TV at night and just when I finally find something good to watch and get really into it, the TV goes black and demands a code to continue. Well, I don't know the code; not even Mom does. And Dad (the code-master) is asleep and would kill me for waking him up. So much constant fail. All because of Nate.
I couldn't jam to loud metal after tonight's incident because my dad was back in his office working, and writing wouldn't suffice for this level of frustration. I couldn't say a word to anyone without getting bitched at. So I opened the freezer and took out my one release, my one tolerable rebellion in this house: ice cream. Don't get me wrong, I thought there was still some lactose-free left, but there wasn't. And once my mind is set on ice cream, there's no turning back. So I ate some. I feel like a cutter, except instead of using blades, I use food allergies. Soon my emotional anguish will become physical and perhaps after I suffer through that, I will find release. Sweet, sweet relief.
No wonder I was fat in high school; I had to be perfect and perfectly studious with no time for me, and binging is the only coping mechanism tolerated in my parents' house. Even talking is shunned because I can't talk to my mom and if my mom hears me having a lot of private conversations with dad (especially those that involve my crying), she gets upset and feels left out. Even talking with a friend on the phone isn't without consequence; if mom knows I'm upset, she prods and grills until she feels "clued in." Then there goes my privacy and my sanity, or any semblance thereof.
Uuuugh. There goes my stomach. So... queasy... uuuuuuuuuuuuuugh. Yes, I'm stupid, but please pray for me. I don't want to make a habit of this again or I'll be huge in no time. And then I might go the opposite extreme again and... oh I am 12 flavors of fail tonight. *gives up* I can't wait to go back to college. Can I just stay there this time instead of coming home for the summer at all? Oh wait, I have three weddings to be in, one of which I am the maid of honor. DX FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIL.