“Mommy, why are you eating that food that makes you bleed?” I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know. Eating and scratching small patches of swollen blisters on my arms that burst blood with the touch of my nails. I couldn’t stop eating. I didn’t want to eat anymore. I didn’t even want what I was eating, but something was driving me to consume it and I felt powerless over it.
It was like being kicked in the face, I couldn’t deny this feeling any longer, no more running away, no more burying my head in the sand. Here it is ….reality. I had lost all control over the food that went in my mouth. This had been building for years. Glimpses and denials about food that I loved that were made with flour. I was clearly allergic, but as the bright, red blood dripped down my arm I was unwilling to let them go.
I was fascinated by friends that would pack their lunch or dinner for work or school. It was a mystery to me, the planning, the prep, the decision. I was haunted by such things. There were so many choices, I didn’t know which way to turn, I felt scattered. The more education I received on health, nutrition and exercise just brought me further and further from clarity.
Driving home from work I would pull through the drive through, order enough for a small family and pull out items one by one. The sticky wrappers dripping grease down my arm. I would plunge into what I thought might nourish me. Ding ding, shame, ding ding, shame, ding ding, shame. Self pity, resentment, shame and isolation were ingrained at that point. I could take care of everybody else, but had no idea how to take care of myself. The food became a drug to fill the hunger of the emotions that I was unable to process. After each meal my fingers would swell, my heart would race and the cravings would consume me. It took everything I had to stay the course and just get home to start all over again the next day.
Completely desperate and beaten down I made a decision to let go of items that contained flour, a life or death decision for me. I had been choosing death, but have decided to choose life. Letting go of food that made me sick was the first step in the direction of life for me.
Its been 3 years since I’ve eaten flour and what a difference it’s made in my life. No more bloody pustules. I wasn’t sure it would be possible. There was a big hump to get over, but having gotten passed the fury, it has definitely gotten easier. Facing all the reasons why I was eating in the first place, now that’s another story.