Rain gives me permission to hide, to seclude myself in my little coccoon of quiet and peace.   I opened the window a foot just to listen, and lighting cracked so often it sounded like Thor was making popcorn up there.  Tornado’s are threatning to blow into the city, and while I cannot imagine it happening in this foggy flat place, it gave me a blessed excuse to beg out of going to the Taste of the Danforth with Semi-British, who has been prodding me to come out of my funk for days.   Too afraid that although I really cannot find the energy to eat right now, I will in the end freak out and binge up and down the street in a wild attempt to make everything go away like I have done in the paste.   I really need to tame myself, to explore the depths of my shattered self to find what it is I have been hiding under all the rolls of fat, all the shame of closet eating, all the cravings.

I have discovered, much to my dismay at the simplicity, that just not thinking about how a food tastes takes away most of my craving for it - imagining it as bland and dull, even picturing it in black and white.  Yet, this morning, I thought of fruits and vegetables and I intensified my memory of the their deliciousness and really visualized the juices and the smell of it all.  Suddenly, my body lurched and all I wanted was to sink my teeth into an orange, into some crisp celery, with the same neediness that I usually feel for chips or chocolate or french fries.   I am amazed at how simple it is - not easy, but simple.   Left wondering, what else in my life can this be applied to?

As an artist, I often study the elements of some object.   Oranges, when I eat them, I pick them apart little juice packet at a time to really savour the design of it, the beauty of it.   Perhaps I shall undertake a series of vegetables and fruits for a greater appreciation, a greater gratitude of what is natural and whole.

After having my soul torn apart by the person I was the closest to, I found myself in a depression in which food for the first time had no power to console me.   An all out binge when depressed would normally sedate me into pretending I didn’t care, but not this time.  This time, I realized that there is nothing that would make it better, certainly not food.  And perhaps that was the gift meant to be given, this basic realization that so much of the world already knows but which has alluded me my 33 years: there is no subsitute for love.   I finally realized that food will not fix it, will not even begin to make me feel better.  I have waited so long for this feeling, and while feeling freer I am no happier.  Just alone, in the dark, broken.

So my old journey with food has been revived, though with new direction.   For me it isn’t about health, or even about wanting to look good (although, truth be told I wouldn’t mind waking up looking like a model) but about coming to accept that I am an addict no different than an alcoholic.  For me, though, there is no dividing line between sobriety and gluttony.   Did I eat that extra few bites of food because I really needed it, or because of my inner addict?   If I were an alcoholic, and I walked into a bar and ordered a scotch, I’d know.  But what if I have soup and add on half a sandwich for good measure?   Am I just making sure to provide for my body, or am I indulging even just a little bit?

What I have determined is this:   I must learn to be comfortable with hunger.  I must learn to sit with my hunger, to be friends with it, to understand that I do not need to be controlled by it, that there is no fear in it.  So for the next month, my intention is to eat as sparingly as possible (average 800 to 1000 calories) - not to lose weight, but to intentionally create hunger and learn to feel comfortable with it and not controlled by it.

For my friend, you will always have my heart and you will always be my home.