Just One More Bite......

I am very angry. Angry inside. I can feel it pulsating, starting from my chest, it is coursing through to my back and up over my shoulders down into my ribcage. It comes upon me like a flash. One second I am calm. Yet even though I appear calm, the anger is heating up under the surface, ready to boil over at any opportunity. I feel this anger as an adrenaline rush in my gut. It blinds me. Whoever coined that phrase coined it very well. When you see anger, you cannot see much else. Actually, you can see nothing else. It is very consuming. It is not full of self-control, it is full of impulse. A depression is right behind it. A depression of happiness, peace, and lasting joy. Day to day I feel like my God-given birthright of lasting tranquility is squelched. And I have turned to food. I love food. I love to eat too much food. I love to stuff myself so full that I want to puke, and then have another bite. And another. And then, to top it off, I want to eat dessert. Not just one slice of cake, I want to eat the whole cake. And I will. And I will eat ice cream with it. And nothing will stop me. If people are around, I will just hide and do it. From my kids, from my husband. I want more. It is insatiable. It isn't stopping.

My stomach is so fat. It grosses me out. It flubbers around when I walk, bouncing from here to there and all over the place. When I sit in the presence of others, I always cross my arms over the big fat roll that cascades over my pants. I am ashamed of it. I always think people are looking at it when they see me. "Eeeewww, look at that girl with the big, fat stomach. She should do something about that." So, I eat. And then I eat some more. And then I eat some more. And then I top it off with dessert. Just one more bite.....just one more. Okay, just one more. I feel sick. Really, just one more bite.

I am bursting forth with rage over my situation. My fat body. My Jell-O thighs, butt and stomach. I am not free. I am enslaved. Enslaved to my fat. Enslaved to the hatred of my body. My wrists and ankles bear the shackles of years and years of self-rejection. And I eat. And I eat another bite. Just one more.....

I want to be free. I want to be skinny. I want to be in shape. I want to be sexy. I want to eat with moderation. I want to choose the best kind of food to fuel my body and be done with it. I don't want a dependent relationship with food. I want to have self-control and choose correct portion sizes and stop eating when I feel satisfied. Most of all, I want to enjoy my food. Because I don't right now. I know that food is what is making me fat, so I just consume and inhale more and more out of hatred to my body. And it makes me hate the food but it makes me love the food because I want to feel comforted. I want to feel bloated, nauseated and gassy so that I don't have to feel this anger. This coursing anger. It is pulsating again.

I am tired. Do I have to fight this losing battle every day. At every meal. In-between meals. Yes, I must. Because I am a slave. And slavery is exhausting. I feel fatigue. I think I have been dragging this fatigue around with me my whole life. It is really heavy. I wish I could just cut it free. Be done with it.

"For my word is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it separates your soul and your spirit, it separates your joints and your marrow..."