"Hungry for Life".
Original? Not really.
Enigmatic? Maybe a little.
Corny or trite? Possibly.
Appropriate? Completely!
Now that I've been doing this whole blogging thing for a few days, some of you may be wondering where the name of my tome comes from, especially if you don't know my past. Well, in a word, I'm always...
...hungry.
Okay, maybe not literally hungry, but certainly compelled to eat. Often. A lot.
I am a glutton.
I am a junkie.
I am a compulsive overeater and food addict.
Some of you may think that's the silliest thing you've ever heard-- after all, how can a person be addicted to food when you must eat it every day?-- but it honestly doesn't matter what you think as I know what I am.
Addicted.
Like a person hooked on crack who feels an undeniable ache in their very bones when they don't get their fix, I feel the same way about food. Like an alcoholic that can't wait to get home and cradle his bottle of Jack and then make it disappear down his throat throughout the evening, I look forward to a rendezvous with my fridge and her contents. Like a sex addict anticipates the amazing physical and emotional rush that comes from engaging in illicit activity, I eagerly anticipate the intense pleasure that comes from smelling my food, chewing it, feeling it dissolve in my mouth and slowly pass over each of the taste regions on my tongue, and savor every last moment until it lands in my gut.
I make it sound kind of perverted, don't I?
Yeah, it's exactly like that.
Unlike someone with a chemical addiction, the lack of my drug doesn't create a physical response in the same way that perhaps a huffer would feel without her aerosol can. I do, however, find myself pacing the floor if I am forcing myself to go without eating. I will walk over to the pantry countless times, open the door, shake the box, read the labels, smell the contents, put it back in precisely the same place, and do it all over again and again. It's as if my legs and hands and nose all have minds of their own. More so, my response is emotional. Food takes me to my happy place. My mind tells me (it's a liar) that I'm at my most content when I'm eating. Engulfing. Gorging. I associate the pleasure of eating with good memories, pleasant times, nice people, healthy relationships. When I'm stressed or off my game or depressed or exhausted, that's when I want to feel better and that's when I eat. It can get to the point where you find excuses to feel bad and therefore excuses to eat to feel better.
Of course after a binge (and that's what they usually are for me because once I start I won't stop), the euphoric happiness is fleeting at best and I start to feel lethargic, sleepy, and sometimes sick. Worse, I start to feel guilt. Overwhelming guilt. I know I shouldn't eat like that. I know it makes me fat (even if that's only in my mind). Fat people are "different". Different people are picked on and bullied. You feel bad when you're bullied and you need to feel better so you eat because food makes you feel good. You want to feel really good so you eat A LOT. You binge, and then it starts all over again.
It's relentless.
It's vicious.
It's like being a hamster on a wheel with no way to get of.
I have dealt with this my entire life as far back as I can remember, and I think I've learned where my particular problem originated. Some of it is genetic, and some of it is environmental, and it's all more than I want to delve into today (I'm sure I'll give you glimpses into that part of me in due time). One way or the other, my problem set me up for guaranteed failure. Heavy weight-gain associated with my addiction made me a very unhealthy person ("death's doorstep", according to my doctor). I used to never ever talk about it-- heck, I wouldn't even admit I had a problem (that's denial, folks).
Well let me tell you, I don't deny it any more.
I've learned tools that help me cope with my addictive eating, and one of those tools is to talk about it. Now I'm sure I have friends and family out there that are dog tired of me talking about it, but there comes a point when I have to be thinking about the state of my life. My healing.
And so I'm writing about it. Openly. Honestly. It's helping to save my life.
So...
"Hungry for Life" is the perfect title. On one hand it points to my issues with food as being one of the defining areas of my life. In a way, you can take it to read almost like a prison sentence: hungry for life with no hope for parole! On the other hand, there's a great deal of optimism in that title. I'm not just hungry, I'm hungry for LIFE! I want to get better. I want to get as much out of my existence as I can. I want to live LIFE to its absolute fullest. I AM HUNGRY FOR LIFE!
Well, there you go. I've given you a bit of insight into who I am, and you can decide for yourself just exactly what my title means. You'll probably be right, and if you're not, that's okay too as I know what it means to me.
I am hungry for life.
