Intervention.

Something weird happened.

 

I came into the dining room to find that the table was laid out with food.

 

There was absolutely everything I liked. Everything I liked in normal food.

 

There was a big bowl of EggFriedRice, PrawnCrackers, SpicyChickenMeatballs, SweetAndSourPork, TeriyakiVegetables and a few others I could not really tell you its English names.

 

There was even a bucket of ice-cream, coffee and bourbon for afters.

 

All bought for me.

 

In a last ditch attempt to make me eat something, my Ex and another friend of mine made the effort of putting me in a situation where my conscience would come into conflict with my problem.

 

Guess what I did?

 

I didn't touch the food.

 

They were disappointed.

 

And so was I. For the life of me I could not understand why they did that. I knew it was because they cared. But I was disappointed that they assumed that my ills could be solved by simply giving me food.

 

I was also disappointed because I made my Ex so sad. I know she feels helpless when it come to dealing with my issues and I do wish sometimes that she leaves me alone. She even stocks her own fridge with my once-favourite foods should I one day come over to hers feeling hungry.

 

I feel quite bad. It has only hit me what I am actually doing to her. I actually saw her disappointment when I yelled a 'no' to her face.

 

Whats more, she has done everything she could possibly do to get me out and socialise. And I always say no to her.

 

In the course of the inevitable arguement that followed, she pointed out that I look horrible with a skinny body and that hugging me is like hugging a bird. To prove a point, she asked me if I have anything to eat in the house. She knew that I had nothing in the fridge.

 

There is a part of me that wants to be better folks. There really is. But the part of me that doesn't want to bother is even bigger. The occassions when I am chipper is quite rare. Even my renewed enthusiasm for make-up and being 'all girly' again seemed to have waned with each time I pass by my hall mirrors.

 

A few weeks ago, I enquired about seeking therapy. Perhaps even book myself in some sort of place where I can address all my issues. Maybe even see a therapist once in a while. The thing is, those options involves me meeting people and pouring my heart out. Something I am not comfortable with. I am only just now begining to get used to the people I work with and I am really not ready to immerse myself with relations with the NormalFolk.

 

There is a part of me that wants to be utterly normal. To have the things everybody has and wants. I wish I could walk down the street with full confidence and without a care in the world instead of the twilight walks for crackerbread and back-alley routes to supermarkets.

 

But there is also a part of me that is so comfortable with the lifestyle I lead. The same part of me thats proud of the issues I developed since I was a child. I am really not prepared for some NormalFolkPsych to destroy it.

 

It would be so easy to adopt the obvious solution. Get out there, eat more, give in to life and be happy. But I can't. However hard I try, the image in the mirror is the culmination of years of self and inflicted abuse.

 

I don't really know what to do as I sit here and type this out. In a way these words help me as I can at least vocalise my inner conflicts to a machine. A machine thats connected with the scant few who understand whats going on with me.

 

But today was an eye-opener.

 

My Ex's face said it all.

Done