To Bed, Without any Red Mango
I am beside myself. I just left the outdoor mall where Red Mango is now in business, but without any Red Mango to enjoy. This is not a real crisis; the Red Mango store just opened up and will likely be there for several months at least, and the mall is no more than 15 minutes from home, so I can easily stop by some time when I am hungry and craving frozen yoghurt. However, there is a voice crying out inside me, a voice not unlike that of a young child being dragged away from the toy she discovered in the store and wants to take home, has to take home, because it is the only toy she will ever want. The thing is, I wasn’t hungry. I wasn’t hungry and so there was no reason for Red Mango, even if I had spotted it a little earlier in the afternoon and been anticipating a visit for frozen yoghurt and interesting toppings. I wasn’t hungry.
I compulsively eat. It may not be a daily thing, but I have some regular patterns, and one of them seems to be a determination to avoid being deprived of whatever wonderful food-centered moment has captured my imagination. Sometimes I am reading a novel and someone with an eating disorder is featured and two things happen, my back starts to tense up and at the same time I lean into the words, hoping to find myself in this character, to find an author who can speak with insight into what drives a woman to eat in unhealthy ways. Invariably though I find someone whose habits are extreme (eating an entire pizza), or whose cravings are centered on Oreos and doughnuts. I will occasionally really want an Oreo, more often a doughnut. These are not at the center of my compulsions though. My compulsions are often less about the actual food and more about the promise of a perfect, delightful moment. Somehow in my mind it is food that makes an occasion special.
Yesterday I finally went to the zoo after planning to go for some time. I’d never been to the zoo in town and I thought it would be fun to start doing some exploring of my own city – to play tourist. It was a great idea – an outing that would involve exploring bus options, seeing flamingoes, re-connecting with my city. However, as I started thinking about a trip to the zoo my mind quickly went to the potential street food and special snacks I could pick up between visits to the elephants and the orangutans. The zoo would be fun, but the zoo topped with great zoo food would be even better! A good part of my anticipation of a visit to the zoo was related to the opportunity to stop at carts and themed-huts and get what?....a hot dog perhaps, a Nutty Buddy, gosh, I don’t even really know what I was expecting, but in my mind it would be some kind of wonderful indulgence in whatever magical items would be open to me. I finally got to the zoo and soon noticed the food pavilion just inside the gates. I wasn’t hungry, so I headed straight for the flamingoes, making a mental note of the pavilion so I could come back and pick up food and get out a book and maybe lounge for awhile at a table in the sun. When it came time for lunch and I was actually hungry, nothing greasy or cheesy or accompanied by fries appealed to me. What I really wanted was something healthy. Here I was surrounded by ice cream and chili dogs and nachos and lasagna and none of them appealed to me. The very pavilion struck me as sad. Where was this great food moment I thought I was going to have? I settled for a chicken sandwich and a large Diet Pepsi. I decided I could back later for ice cream when that would appeal to me – after more animals.
Shortly after the raptors I came across a food hut and picked up a frozen fruit bar, passing up the ice cream sandwich and the Day-Glo push-up treat, after walking past the Mexican fries, popcorn and sausage and onions. The fruit bar seemed like the perfect choice, and it was wonderful, with real whole strawberries. Savored while looking at the wallabies. Besides, I would top of the day by riding the bus to Madrona where I could stop at Cupcake Royal and get a wonderful buttercream topped little cake. I would read and eat a cupcake and then when hungry for dinner, walk across the street to the pub for a beer and fish and chips? A hamburger? Whatever would strike my mood in the moment. In the end there was no cupcake (the bakery ran out) and a friend called and invited me to get Thai with her. In the end I still ate too much pad see iew, so I can’t claim it as a day of nothing but healthy choices. It was, however, a day of multiple good choices and more exercise than I usually get on a Saturday. I was kinder to my body than usual.
And today I was also kind, though it felt so costly. I turned the corner and found the Red Mango store open. Finally. I had walked past it numerous times this summer while it was still being built. Now it was open. I was hungry for lunch, and frozen yoghurt wasn’t exactly lunch food so I instantly came up with a plan. I would get a light lunch, curl up in a big puffy chair at Barnes and Noble to read for an hour or so, and then stop at Red Mango. It would be a great day! I had the lunch and felt full, too full even to want to get a free refill of Diet Coke. I threw the cup away and ran my next few errands. I then walked through the entire Barnes and Noble and couldn’t find an available comfortable chair. I made do with a bench and realized my back was hurting. It was time to leave. That forced a decision: go home, still full and without Red Mango, or get Red Mango and eat in spite of not being hungry just so I could fulfill the food fantasy I had constructed for the afternoon. It was a huge dilemma, stirring misery as I moved more and more toward a decision that would involve walking away from the Red Mango. I don’t know how long this pattern has been going on, this pattern of food being so central to a sense of occasion, the difficulty in walking away from something as simple as a dish of frozen yoghurt. I would imagine it has been with me for a long time and now I’m beginning to face it. It is as though I fear being deprived, not just of the food but also of the magic moment I build up in my mind centered around that food. More is involved than a food fantasy, close on its heels arises the anxiety that catches me in a drama of whether, this time, I will choose wisely or not. The stakes escalate, the decision is of maximum importance and finally I say, “Fuck it! I can’t believe I’m stressing out over this!” I would estimate that 9 times out of 10 in this circumstance, damning the anxiety that is making my life so crazy – over such a ridiculous decision! – I go for the extra food, or the greasy food, or the food that will give me a stomach ache because it is not what my body needs. In a strange, bizarre way, it is my self-critique that leads to permission to overeat. That self-critique can be so cruel, so rigid and then in its face I call it rigid and “free” myself from its tyranny. Eating becomes an act of freedom, an act of a will that refuses to cower before anxiety.
Compulsive behavior is complex. This is a piece of my story with food, a piece of my struggle. This is what compulsive eating looks like in my life. I think things are beginning to change and that gives me hope, but I’ll take your prayers.
I compulsively eat. It may not be a daily thing, but I have some regular patterns, and one of them seems to be a determination to avoid being deprived of whatever wonderful food-centered moment has captured my imagination. Sometimes I am reading a novel and someone with an eating disorder is featured and two things happen, my back starts to tense up and at the same time I lean into the words, hoping to find myself in this character, to find an author who can speak with insight into what drives a woman to eat in unhealthy ways. Invariably though I find someone whose habits are extreme (eating an entire pizza), or whose cravings are centered on Oreos and doughnuts. I will occasionally really want an Oreo, more often a doughnut. These are not at the center of my compulsions though. My compulsions are often less about the actual food and more about the promise of a perfect, delightful moment. Somehow in my mind it is food that makes an occasion special.
Yesterday I finally went to the zoo after planning to go for some time. I’d never been to the zoo in town and I thought it would be fun to start doing some exploring of my own city – to play tourist. It was a great idea – an outing that would involve exploring bus options, seeing flamingoes, re-connecting with my city. However, as I started thinking about a trip to the zoo my mind quickly went to the potential street food and special snacks I could pick up between visits to the elephants and the orangutans. The zoo would be fun, but the zoo topped with great zoo food would be even better! A good part of my anticipation of a visit to the zoo was related to the opportunity to stop at carts and themed-huts and get what?....a hot dog perhaps, a Nutty Buddy, gosh, I don’t even really know what I was expecting, but in my mind it would be some kind of wonderful indulgence in whatever magical items would be open to me. I finally got to the zoo and soon noticed the food pavilion just inside the gates. I wasn’t hungry, so I headed straight for the flamingoes, making a mental note of the pavilion so I could come back and pick up food and get out a book and maybe lounge for awhile at a table in the sun. When it came time for lunch and I was actually hungry, nothing greasy or cheesy or accompanied by fries appealed to me. What I really wanted was something healthy. Here I was surrounded by ice cream and chili dogs and nachos and lasagna and none of them appealed to me. The very pavilion struck me as sad. Where was this great food moment I thought I was going to have? I settled for a chicken sandwich and a large Diet Pepsi. I decided I could back later for ice cream when that would appeal to me – after more animals.
Shortly after the raptors I came across a food hut and picked up a frozen fruit bar, passing up the ice cream sandwich and the Day-Glo push-up treat, after walking past the Mexican fries, popcorn and sausage and onions. The fruit bar seemed like the perfect choice, and it was wonderful, with real whole strawberries. Savored while looking at the wallabies. Besides, I would top of the day by riding the bus to Madrona where I could stop at Cupcake Royal and get a wonderful buttercream topped little cake. I would read and eat a cupcake and then when hungry for dinner, walk across the street to the pub for a beer and fish and chips? A hamburger? Whatever would strike my mood in the moment. In the end there was no cupcake (the bakery ran out) and a friend called and invited me to get Thai with her. In the end I still ate too much pad see iew, so I can’t claim it as a day of nothing but healthy choices. It was, however, a day of multiple good choices and more exercise than I usually get on a Saturday. I was kinder to my body than usual.
And today I was also kind, though it felt so costly. I turned the corner and found the Red Mango store open. Finally. I had walked past it numerous times this summer while it was still being built. Now it was open. I was hungry for lunch, and frozen yoghurt wasn’t exactly lunch food so I instantly came up with a plan. I would get a light lunch, curl up in a big puffy chair at Barnes and Noble to read for an hour or so, and then stop at Red Mango. It would be a great day! I had the lunch and felt full, too full even to want to get a free refill of Diet Coke. I threw the cup away and ran my next few errands. I then walked through the entire Barnes and Noble and couldn’t find an available comfortable chair. I made do with a bench and realized my back was hurting. It was time to leave. That forced a decision: go home, still full and without Red Mango, or get Red Mango and eat in spite of not being hungry just so I could fulfill the food fantasy I had constructed for the afternoon. It was a huge dilemma, stirring misery as I moved more and more toward a decision that would involve walking away from the Red Mango. I don’t know how long this pattern has been going on, this pattern of food being so central to a sense of occasion, the difficulty in walking away from something as simple as a dish of frozen yoghurt. I would imagine it has been with me for a long time and now I’m beginning to face it. It is as though I fear being deprived, not just of the food but also of the magic moment I build up in my mind centered around that food. More is involved than a food fantasy, close on its heels arises the anxiety that catches me in a drama of whether, this time, I will choose wisely or not. The stakes escalate, the decision is of maximum importance and finally I say, “Fuck it! I can’t believe I’m stressing out over this!” I would estimate that 9 times out of 10 in this circumstance, damning the anxiety that is making my life so crazy – over such a ridiculous decision! – I go for the extra food, or the greasy food, or the food that will give me a stomach ache because it is not what my body needs. In a strange, bizarre way, it is my self-critique that leads to permission to overeat. That self-critique can be so cruel, so rigid and then in its face I call it rigid and “free” myself from its tyranny. Eating becomes an act of freedom, an act of a will that refuses to cower before anxiety.
Compulsive behavior is complex. This is a piece of my story with food, a piece of my struggle. This is what compulsive eating looks like in my life. I think things are beginning to change and that gives me hope, but I’ll take your prayers.
Comments