So, last time I said that I stress eat. That's technically inaccurate. I don't stress eat so much as become a giant blackhole of food absorbtion when I'm stressed. Srsly. Not pretty.
So no wonder my fat pants are tight as hell right now. You know I once got so fat, I thought I'd developed a hunch on my back, but then I lost the weight and realized I had just been cultivating human bacon? True story. But I digress.
I've been working hard to figure out why I turn to food during stress. From a practical standpoint, food is a socially-acceptable way to drown your sorrows. I can't work drunk (although I've known - and been married to - folks who've tried!), but I can work hopped up on chocolate and Red Bull! Of course, then I become 24-hour socially unacceptable, since society does not favor the fatted. Pity, that. A couple hundred years ago, I woulda been hot stuff. But again, I digress.
When I feel bad, I turn to food. Bored, food. Stressed, food. Depressed, food. Happy, celebrate with food! I can tag food into any emotion whatsoever, and find it totally justifiable. Just watch me!
I've been this way since I was a kid. I wonder if Mom ever wondered why we went through sliced cheese so fast? I used to eat all Dad's brownies, and blame my brother (who once ate a four-pound roast by himself, so it wasn't a stretch to get him blamed). But even then, why did I? How many kids are stressed? Well, lots. Me for one.
As a toddler, I had some kind of weird kidney disease no one could ever diagnose. One kidney swelled so much, the doctor thought I had three. Sometime around grade school, I just kind of outgrew all of the bladder and kidney infections.
Also as a toddler, I apparently had arthritis in my knees. So running and playing wasn't always fun, it was often painful.
I had brains, though, so I clung to that to make my name. Of course, skipping gym glass for medical reasons, getting fat, and having awesome grades made me way popular.
By sixth grade, I wore about a size 18. How pathetic is that? My nearing-sixth-grade daughter wears a 4, and she's tall and broad-built like her mama. Sixth grade was also the year I grew six inches in nine months, nearly destroying my knees. They were wormholed, and brittle, and could have broken easily, because my bones just couldn't keep up. So that made me fat, smart, athletically challenged, and on crutches half the time. Oh, and I had a lisp. Extra awesome.
By my sophomore year in high school, I was 5'8" (I'd later grow another two inches), weighed 240 pounds, had a bad perm (yay 80s!), back trouble, knee trouble, developed TMJ and had to wear a mouth guard f0r nine months straight (at least it cured my lisp).
What was always my solution over time? Cookies make it all better! Velveeta covered potato chips! PIZZA!!!! And all the Watchamacallit bars I could get my hands on. Typical breakfast when I'd go to forensic and music meets (just adding to my geek cred) would be grape Nehi and a Suzi Q.
So what does this tell me about why I do it? Probably nothing, quite frankly. All I know is I do it, and it's been a lifelong habit. About my junior year of high school, for whatever reason, things broke and weight dropped off. I can't think of exactly what changed, though. So that doesn't really help.
Bleh. I'll get there. I'll figure it out.
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