Eat Feelings
May 5, 2020
Anyone else eat their feelings?
It works out fine for the most part, the weight gain. I don’t own any full length mirrors and rarely view recordings of myself. It’s an alright solution to the existential dread, if you think about it. I wake up, throw on some stretchy pants, and make my way through the day, bouncing from snack to meal, stress to apathy, screen to screen. Planning the next culinary indulgence is a highlight of my day. Portion control unheeded, I consume until my brain quiets and all I can feel is full.
What else will distract me from the meaningless monotony that is my corporate work day?
Well, maybe that was a bit exaggerated. I do tackle challenges, communicate with colleagues, and contribute to a shared goal. I suppose that could be satisfaction enough.
And yet, here I am at 10pm, stuffed to the brim and still hungry for more.
You see, the food isn’t cutting it. It won’t mollify the persistent unease that lingers in my gut; a steady companion that I’ve become familiar with even before the lockdown began. I turn to the virtual world, and find scrolling through endless feeds of different varieties - photos, text, and videos - is nothing but a costly distraction, leaving me feeling more drained after each hit.
Knowing this, that the solution does not lie in consumption of the physical or virtual nature, I still continue the cycle. Hours turn to days, days to weeks, and weeks to months. My sense of feeling trapped thickens, and so does my waistline.
I begin to wonder, do I rely on the outer world to be my mirror; to keep me in line? To maintain certain standards? Is there a bigger purpose to putting on pants and walking out that door?
I balk at the implication.
No, this is not my discipline faltering without daily exposure to society. This is an illusion being revealed now that the distraction is gone. The program has stopped repeating, and here I’m left in the quiet space that is my home, overcome with the discovery that it was empty all along. Shallow, surface-level, robotic; I had bought into this existence.
I can appreciate the effect of a busy routine, or a bowl of pasta, to effectively, temporarily, provide a sense of completeness and comfort. Although I must say, the routine does a better job. I discovered that I’m unable to eat my way into manufactured complacency. After an attempt to do just that, I can no longer ignore the persistent ache in my heart; the craving for fulfillment. Now exposed, it must be addressed.
Questions arise:
What am I here to do?
What is my gift, my joy, my art?
What energizes me, while contributing positively to the world?
I say this with conviction: I will not go back to sleep. I will not fall back in line and accept a passionless existence. How can I, after the veil has been removed?
I look in the mirror, eyeing my extra chin, and feel nothing but love. It is evidence of my determination to seek a better feeling; to care for myself emotionally; to persist until I was ready for the truth. Here I stand, at a turning point. Ready to seek a purpose that brings lasting satisfaction when consumed. The next steps are unclear at present, but my resolve to light a new path burns bright.
