Too Much of a Good Thing

Do you remember Fruit Stripe? In 10th Grade Government we had a lecture on supply and demand. To illustrate her point, my teacher selected a student (and my crush tee hee... I always did love an excuse to stare!) and asked if he would like a piece of gum. Of course he would since chewing gum in school was technically illegal - this did not stop me from chewing during a presentation in said class, however. That is a story for another time, though. Anyway...

She pulled out a piece of Fruit Stripe and handed it to him, telling him to chew. After about a minute of staring him down (hehe) she hands him another piece. "Chew" she demands. He looks around confused... "Uh should I take this piece out first?"

"No, add this one."

She does this repeatedly until the entire pack of gum is inside this poor kid's mouth. Five minutes of jawing and 17 sticks later she pulls out another pack and again asks "Would you like a piece of gum?" His eyes wide with horror, he shakes his head forcibly and tries to convey through a wad of chewed gum that, No, he doesn't.

Over the course of this experiment his face radically changes from that class clown smug-shot to crestfallen and pained. That's exactly how I feel when I eat.

To start, I'm hungry... or bored. The thought of a burger or slice of pizza sounds delicious. I go to the kitchen and find myself a snack. But the snack doesn't fill me up. I don't feel satisfied. I'm still hungry and I still haven't eaten what I really want in the first place.

...So I eat more. I can't help myself. I have no will power to leave well enough alone. Now, I can't be hungry because I may have just polished off some crackers or a bowl of ice cream or cereal, but I haven't had that burger yet. I binge until the weight of the food in my stomach hurts. And then I get depressed. I'm disgusted with what I've just done. I feel fat and ugly. I'm disappointed that I couldn't stop this from happening again. Because this isn't the first time, you know.

Inevitably I reach that sickening point where my face is crestfallen and pained, as if my whole life has been the Fruit Stripe experiment. Sometimes I go into the bathroom, close the door, and make myself throw up. Sometimes I exercise... and then throw up. Sometimes I just sit there and resolve never to let it happen again.

It will though. And even now as I write this, I think:

1) Maybe expressing myself will act as therapy to help me get past my cravings.

2) Portion control. Portion control. Portion Control.

3) What's for dinner?