Member-only story
I have decided to eat myself.
Rather, I have decided to eat loneliness.
I had this brilliant idea on a day after a horrible binge.
I had proceeded to eat too much food the night before —
out of loneliness and drear.
The next day, feeling hazy, uncomfortable, panicked, sad — realizing my fat would bury me if I kept this up — more emotionally than physically — I decide:
I will eat loneliness. It will be my new food.
I have plenty of it.
So that’s what I’ve been eating for three days now.
When I am tempted to cave — to go to the store, or go to the cupboards to get extra, unnecessary food, I say,
“Wow, Anita. You have a new food. Loneliness. Might as well get familiar with it.”
My brain pushes back:
“Pick up! Alcohol! Sugar! Snacks! Feed me!”
I retort:
“No, Anita. Pick up the shovel.
Dig, Dig, Dig.
How deep can you go?”
I can go pretty deep.
I find dirt. More dirt.
I find air. It’s light.
So much better than fat.
And I like that!
Ah, Loneliness!
How rich.
