It’s a funny relationship.

Not humorous or blithe. Rather strange. Rather contradictory.

It started with love. With resistance to the idea that food does bad things to the body. It later changed to consciousness. I understood that to indulge comes with it’s own special set of consequences.

These consequences breach not only the physical boundaries but the social, economic, psychological and emotional boundaries as well. Food is at the centre of life and the number one cause of death. It’s a complex little concept.

I soon learned how to hate. How to truly hate. I couldn’t stand the food. I tried to stay away. Even faster, I learned that food is not so easily hated. It’s lure is so prominent that just a whiff will turn your stomach against you.

And now I grapple. I’m stuck in a limbo between immense love and atrocious hate. Restricting my diet has allowed for some freedom to love, but it’s starting all over again. I am still not getting thin enough. Food is still the obstacle. The drawback. The enemy.

Where do I stand in a world where my fuel is my possessor and enemy all at once? I can’t decide. I can’t control. I can’t believe the difficulty I am having.

I want to be free and yet I am chained by expectations, by self-control, by love for myself. I cannot even begin to imagine a world where food and I are in love.

Or even a world where we can tolerate one another. Food hates me.

I cannot decide whether I love it or despise it.




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