A quiet meltdown: Purging at the soccer field
#60M2IM Day 9/100.
I sat in my car tonight, parked on the street overlooking Ruby’s soccer practice. I had my computer open over my lap, trying to finish up an MFA packet that was due last Wednesday.
And I had a quiet meltdown.
Tears, but no sobbing. Sudden, absolute knowledge that I have no idea what I’m doing in any segment of my life. Utter terror that any minute now the rest of the world was going to clue in to the fact that I’m a total fraud.
For the first time in a very long time, I responded with a binge. I wanted to eat. Desperately. I put my computer down and drove to Burger King.
I don’t even like Burger King.
Burger King is across the street from an In and Out Burger.
Here’s a thing about a binge: it’s almost never about eating good food.
I went to Burger King because I was having a quiet meltdown and was in the middle of being crushed by the idea that I’m a complete fraud. I didn’t deserve a Double Double.
There was one car in front of me. I sat behind him for ten full minutes. (I timed it.) He ordered $57 worth of Burger King, at the drive-thru. Who does that?
I’m not proud of my impatience. Or how I talked to the poor kid who took my order. I apologized when I got to the window. I hope he believed me when I said I was sorry.
What I would have ordered, two years ago: A Whopper. French fries. A piece of pie. Since I was on a binge, I would have probably had a chicken sandwich, too. And a shake.
And, oh God. It would have felt so good. Warm and safe and perfect.
What I ordered, because I wasn’t so far gone that I wanted to buy a bunch of food I couldn’t actually eat: the chicken sandwich and a Froot Loop shake.
I ordered a Froot Loop shake, ya’ll. That’s how deep this quiet meltdown went.
I had exactly one sip of the Froot Loop shake. It was as disgusting as it sounds. And I ate half of the sandwich before I got back to the park.
That was my entire binge. Half a chicken sandwich and a sip of Froot Loop shake. It was too much, too fast. What’s left of my stomach said, “No, Ma’am.”
And I redeposited it into the bag it came from. Parked in front of the soccer field. So, I had to deal with concerned soccer mom’s peering into my car window, wanting to make sure I was okay.
I wasn’t purging. At least not on purpose. But it was all enough like my old self, my old thing, that it was completely disturbing on many levels.
Weight loss surgery is like an anti-binge safety feature.
I cannot physically overeat.
Very rarely, it’s also an auto-purge that I can’t stop. Which is scary as shit.
I can’t deal with quiet meltdowns and the crush of sudden-onset fraud syndrome with food anymore.
So I texted my friend Amy.
I’m learning. Next time I’ll text her first.
(My packet is turned in, and I’m okay now.)
In case you want to start from the start.
Day: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8.
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Shaunta Grimes is a writer and teacher. She lives in Reno with her husband, three superstar kids, and a yellow rescue dog named Maybelline Scout. She’s on Twitter @shauntagrimes, is the author of Viral Nation and Rebel Nation, and is the original Ninja Writer.
