psychotic love

Love and Wonders of Psychotic Love with Food

I write here about spychotic love and the different levels of psychotic love.  One can be food too.  My mom was a great cook.  She also wanted to make sure we were respectful enough to finish everything on our plate when we were young.  She’s not like that anymore… much.  But an interesting thought.  I became bulimic.  I was for 30 years.  I was apparently, what I thought, spychotically in love with food.  But it turns out I really wasn’t.  I was in love with a person that left an emptiness.  They say that “part” that exists, such as my bulimia, is a part that is there to help you survive the other part. The part of emptiness. I suppose.  I’m not 100% sure.  I know one of my psychiatrists told me that it saved my life.  That it was a slow suicide, but not something that was quick that I could not overcome.  He then said I was like China doll.  Cold on the outside, but fragile.  That to me, made sense.  I guess he was right in saying I hid behind my bulimia.  And “it” was my friend.  “Have your cake and eat it too” kind of philosophy which I wrote a book about but back then, I think I was too close to it to write about it.  Today I don’t even know.. or I can say, I can’t understand why.  Why I became bulimic, other then my blogs.  They are the only remembory of my reasons for being one.

I tend to find some solace in knowing Jane Fonda, amongst many other actresses, “suffered” from this for many years.  But was it suffering?  Or was it a lack of someone out there just saying… You don’t need to do this to yourself.  You are just perfect with all your imperfections and I love you.  Learn that internally and you will be fine.  That’s what happened to me.  It even left that bulimia “part” of me sitting next to me while I went to bottom of the pit and was coming back again.  She was still there, but not in action.  In watching me as I healed from what she tried to save me from.  She’s still there, but not.  She’s a friend now, not a foe.  I have to thank my sister for that.  She hit a word.  And that word I can’t really remember, only know, next day, bulimia was there, next to me, but didn’t want to hurt me anymore, she wasn’t active.  I didn’t need to eat my anger, or pain and throw them up anymore.  I just became…. me. And realized emotions need to be dealt with.   And it isn’t so bad…  One psychotic love gone… turned into mindfulness.  Bulimia = food.  Now a new world.  And they get along. 🙂

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