So I haven’t written a thing since May. I’ve been avoiding it. I’ve been binge eating and binge shopping instead. I realize that I’m filling up a rather empty existence with food and clothes; I also realize that the more food I fill up on the more I can say I “need” the clothes and so it becomes rather a cycle. I don’t think I enjoy it much. I’ve become rather unpleasant for pretty much everyone to be around. Even I don’t much like to be alone in my own head which is why the no writing. Writing, for me anyway, means facing up to what’s going on in my head and what’s going on in my life and I just do not want to do it anymore. I’d rather have a donut and watch bad TV or see what I can find on Etsy.
BUT, I am an emotional eater and emotional shopper and if I don’t figure something else out I’m going to spend my children in to homelessness and be one of those people who has to be hauled to the hospital in a horse trailer. (That might be catastrophizing a bit.) Funny thing is, I am not very emotional on the surface most of the time. I would say I avoid emotional interactions with people most of the time, except for the fact that I tend to yell quickly at my kids sometimes. I don’t cry at funerals or weddings or graduations UNLESS they’re on TV and I’m watching by myself–usually with a dessert of some sort in hand. I have a tendency to cry at every even remotely emotional tv and movie scene there is as long as I watch it in my recliner. Maybe the eating sets of an emotional binge as well?
Sigh. I wish it were that simple, but I don’t think so. It’s occurred to me that I eat desserts because my mom makes desserts, and I eat donuts because I used to go get them with my dad every Saturday. If I’ve learned one thing from Oprah and countless episodes of Hoarders (and who knows, maybe my education) its that “food” or “stuff” can fill hole in life. I even have a vague idea what specifically triggered the current bout of over indulgence and most of the time I would rather weigh 400 pounds and be bankrupt than deal with it.
Funny thing: I quit working on this to go get my daughter from school and I’ve sat in front of the computer for literally 3 hours rather than think about this any more. But I’m not getting any younger or any thinner by not admitting there’s a problem and there is one.
I know I said I only cry while watching TV, but that’s not entirely true–I cried at the psychiatrist the other day (the only human who ever sees this I think) while pointing out that I’m completely stuck in my life: my education was a waste of money that I will never be able to pay for, I have no purpose now that I left my job, and I’m completely incapable of keeping another one. It’s not like any of that was news, I didn’t even realize I was upset about it until I heard myself say it. It came up because I mentioned my husbands gaming–which sounds small, but isn’t really.
Between November of 2004 and November of 2007 he logged 121 DAYS and 18 hours of time playing a level 70 character in an online role-playing game. That doesn’t include a secondary character and time spent in “guild chat” and “vent” hanging out and being the guild leader. Prior to 2004 he spent this same kind of time online with first Everquest and then Dark Ages of Camelot and StarWars. And Now its Rift. And the thing is, I get it. I really do. It’s a totally fake world where he’s completely in charge of everything and every one does what he says and if they don’t he can kick them out of his guild and ignore them on “vent”. So I can see why he went back this year: I was sick, and I didn’t get the job with benefits he thought I’d get, and I lost my disability payments, and he didn’t get the great big bid he thought he was getting, and we of course have no savings. So he downloaded a BETA test while he was home not working–easier than finishing our basement or dealing with any of the other stuff. He thrives on being in control and being in charge, its his crack and he can get it from gaming all of the time–can’t say that for work even when he works for himself. Certainly can’t say that for being with me or the kids.
And I’m not blaming him for the eating really, or the giant hole in my life, or my stuck-ness. We all have choices and I have not made and am not making good ones for myself. I don’t remember when, if ever, I’ve made reasonable ones honestly. (Well, I did give up the smoking–I suppose that was probably wise.) 16 years ago I wanted him to rescue me from a different bad choice and he did, and he keeps a roof over my head and indulges my cravings for both donuts and shoes. I suspect that asking to be entertained as well is asking a lot.But my favorite TV character–the one who has made me cry the most in the last few years any way–is Dr. Who because part of me thinks that all of Time and Space isn’t too much to ask for.
And maybe I’ve always looked for the fairytale and the fantasy and for something better or for an escape or a rescue and that’s why all the bad choices. But why do I need a rescue or a fairytale? Still? At nearly 40? Seriously–what’s with the inability to mature anyway? Because most people who are stuck and looking for rescuers are traumatized by something in their past and I can’t decipher if that’s true for me or not. The fact is I have a lot of stuff that I can’t remember anymore. Many many details of childhood are gone. A surprising number of specific things about highschool and even college are gone. And I get the strangest flashes at the strangest times of things that I didn’t realize had even happened. So MAYBE . . . Maybe I’m missing something. Or a lot of small things??? So I’m going to try to piece it all together and I’m mostly sure that’s going to be really unpleasant. But I think my world is going to get a lot smaller–and I’m going to get a lot larger–if I don’t try.