Orange

Orange

Greetings from the Cheesecake Cafe depths of my depravity.

I know I am on my way here before I am even coming. Decisions are made as though my body has been taken over by alien forces and I am propelled towards food like a moth to the flame that will, undoubtedly, kill it.

It is sinister. I sit in the studio, bereft, and as the girls whirl and twirl before me, I see dancing sweet potato fries and carrot cake. Orange. The theme of tonight is orange. My soul is on fire burning from the inside out. It sizzles like fat in a frying pan.

There is no one to take me out on this frigid, Friday night. I am 31 and perpetually single. No takers to fulfill the dream of husband, children and various assorted pets in a big house in Africa.

No matter. I take myself out for another bout of dinner soul destroying. I do not look like I am alright. I am sure that I have that demented, half-crazed glint in my eyes when I spy cheesecake. My sweat pants are tucked into snow-ravaged boots and my hair (too thin from too many years of malnutrition and hypothyroid) is greasy and limp. Better days have seen me. Today is not one of them.

“Table for how many?” the hostess asks.

“One.”

One fat, sad, lonely, excuse for a freak. I say it without venom: It is merely an observation of the reality of my wasted existence.

I munch my way through my disappointment, avoiding another evening in my empty apartment where my cats plead with me to find my sanity. They think it is there sitting on the couch with them. I know it sitting on Sunset Rock in the Savé Valley but I was 17 then. Too much water has flowed down the Zambezi since that point. There is no turning back even though going back might be possible and at this juncture, my only means of survival.

After I am fed, stuffed full and vomitus, I long only to lie down under the table. I want a tummy full of little, blue, ex-lax pills to soothe me to sleep. I could wrap my shame and loathing around me, blanketing myself in them and drifting off into oblivion.

It has been achieved once more through whatever means necessary.

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2 thoughts on “Orange

  1. K says:

    Hello Love,

    I completely understand that emptiness you describe. And the desperate attempts to fill the void with wonderful, beautiful, delicious food. I, too, find myself in a trance walking to the grocery store, full of anticipation, waiting to pick off cookies and ice cream from the shelves. And there was a time I was so obsessed with food that even in bed with my then-boyfriend, with his arms around me and caressing me, I would fantasize about the next time I could eat chocolate, and pie, and pizza.

    I am 32 and single. And very lonely, despite having many friends and guys that are interested in me. I feel like I have so much to give, if only I found the right person. I have dreams of children, too, but wonder if I am running out of time.

    Can I ask you why you moved to Canada from Africa? I have moved around so much that I don’t know where home is anymore.

    It’s Friday night, and I have opted to stay in with a movie, too ashamed to go out and see friends because of my fat, pillow-y body.

    Wishing you happy thoughts 🙂

    Love,
    K

    • Hi K,

      I am always happy to hear from you and get an update. You can email me anytime at thefatballerinablogs@yahoo.com if you want to tell me more.

      I moved here because of work but I am obsessed with moving back. Africa is home for me. My heart and my family are there. Also I HATE the cold and 10 years in Canada has nearly killed me. Not to be dramatic or anything 😉

      I don’t think we will run out of time for our dreams of husbands and kids. I am determined to adopt children and don’t mind if I don’t have my own. I would very much like to be free of ED for the sake of my kids when I have them. It has stolen from my life and I don’t want it to steal from theirs when the time comes.

      Sometimes I am too fat to leave the house so I understand where you are coming from. I have seen your pics on your blog and you look stunning to me. I know ED will never let you see that.

      I hope your weekend goes well. Write again soon. I love reading your stuff!

      Love and hugs,
      FB

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