I haven’t written about food for a while. Partly because I’ve been doing really well with relaxing around it; and partly because my mind has been addled by other things. Food is, however, back on the agenda at the moment, and yet again, it’s linked to ‘the move’. I think this move might throw up a lot of skeletons in the next few weeks, so I apologise in advance…
I live on my own. Before I lived on my own, I lived in rehab for nearly three years. Before that, I shared a flat with some friends at uni and ended up spinning out of control; and before that, I was at home, which became irreparably tainted by how I behaved there with food.
Living on my own has given me complete control over food. At first, the control was warped into binging; but, for the past two (wow!) years, it’s been used to manage needing to eat. This is a distinct improvement, given the alternative, but it means that I’m still quite rigid with my meals. I cook everything from scratch, know exactly what goes where, and rely a little too heavily on things like scales to make food feel okay.
It sounds bad, but it’s the first time since I was a child that I’ve eaten three proper meals every day. I’ve got a routine that works and, okay, it might be a little isolating and, yes, it sometimes present a few barriers but, ultimately, it’s meant that I’m standing strong today.
Next week, I’m moving. For the first month, I’m staying with relatives and, hopefully, during that time, I’ll find a flatshare where I can stay more permanently. I definitely won’t be in control for the first part; and I have absolutely no idea what will come after that.
And so I’m scared.
I’m really scared.
I’m scared that it will be uncomfortable, and that I will have to confront the foods that I would normally manage to avoid. I’m scared that I won’t be able to check what’s going into what, and feel okay with what’s on my plate. I’m scared that the fear will get in the way of the adventure, and I will end up obsessing around calories instead. I’m scared by the sheer number of variables on the table… and I’m also sad. The relationship I’ve developed with food over the past few years isn’t that healthy, but it’s made it bearable to move away from the close ties we previously had.
I am not very good at giving up control.
I have held on to it with an iron fist ever since I got ill. If it has been taken away from me, than I have fought like a banshee; and, if I have given it away in a moment of desperation, I’ve always found a way of wrestling it back. The last few years haven’t been as destructive, but I’ve always been totally in the driving seat and I’ve never let anything – or anyone – wriggle their way in –
Only this is more important.
I am prepared to give up this control if it’s part of my future and necessary for my move.
I’ve just no idea how it’s going to work out.