"To keep flowers fresh, clean the vase with a bleach solution." -Martha Stewart.
Martha, where am how am I, a poor college student, supposed to get a bleach solution? Cause I'm pretty sure those are not sold at the hall store.
Food has never, never been an issue in my family. There was always fruit and vegetables at dinner, but we generally ate whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted. My parents never made a big deal over weight or dieting. Christmas was a time we got together and everyone looked forward to my grandma Schaaf's seafood soup and my aunt Cathy's stuffed mushrooms. If something was wrong, food was the answer. Not feeling well? Let me make you some soup. You did well at your track meet? I'll make brownies! It's Wednesday? Let's make lemon squares.
It's given me a general habit of emotional eating and eating due to bordom, rather than hunger. At this point, I'm feeling down about being in Milwaukee, so I have a cookie with dinner, but I gave up dessert for Lent, so I feel bad about the cookie, so I feel worse, so I have a Dove Chocolate when I get back to my room, it doesn't help. This is what people tend to refer to as a FUCKING VICIOUS CYCLE.
It's even harder when you try to explain this to your 6'6'' boyfriend who naturally sits at 10 pounds less than you, who's family has very different ideas about food than yours, who is used to family members with eating disorders, who can't gain weight to save his life, and just DOESN'T UNDERSTAND.
The mentality I've come to develop about my own body image and standards of health is not a pretty one.
I know, man, it is totally the same with me! It's awful, but I'm counting on next year when I can't afford to buy food other than the essentials to snap me out of it.
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