I Hurt Myself – Comfort Eating

I did it to myself last night.  I ate dinner.  I had some left-over stew.  It was good and filling and I was content.  Then I decided to make some baked oatmeal for the kids for breakfast this week.

When it came out of the oven, I ended up eating two pieces.  It tasted so good and for awhile, I felt good.  I was happy.  I wasn’t thinking of anything except how good that oatmeal tasted.

Then I took the last bite and the high was over.  The food was gone and I realized that my stomach was so very over-full that it hurt.  I happened to be talking to Endellion and I told her what I’d done.  And I know exactly why I’d done it.

I’d actually done it without thinking about it.  I’d simply fallen back into old habits.  I had just told her that I didn’t want to mourn moving on from Luke.  I told her I didn’t want to have to go through this.  Then I sat and ate.

And now I could kick myself.  I can’t remember the last time I ate until I hurt.  I do NOT like that feeling.  I especially do not like what is behind the subconscious need I had to do that.  I’m mad at myself for trying to bury the feelings.  I’m especially mad at myself for not telling Luke, “Listen, I know you’ve dismissed the idea because we live in totally different places but I want to try it.  I am working on a 5 year plan to get me back near where you live.  Can we at least talk on the phone and see if we enjoy spending that kind of time together?  There doesn’t have to be any pressure – I just want to get to know you more.”

I know I did the right thing.  I can’t be selfish about this.  He said he’d thought about it and dismissed it because he’s there and I’m here.  I also get the feeling that he just isn’t that into me.  That’s fine.  That is his choice.  I just need to deal with what feels like the death of a dream.  I have to take a quarter of a century of wondering “what if” and lay it to rest.  For my sanity, I have to do this.  For my health, I have to do this.

And if I’m completely honest with myself, I’ll admit that if he showed up on my doorstep, I’d welcome him back into my home and my bed without a second thought.  And I’d enjoy every second.  That is my hold-up.  That is what is impeding my moving on from this.  I know, absolutely know, that I want him enough that I would do that.

Because deep-down, that dream refuses to die.


1 Comment


    1. I Miss My Mom and Other Not So Fun Stuff « Hope Wears Heels

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