petite heartbreak

Sophie at 3 years old...telling me all about it.

Sophie is 9 years old, yet in her own mind, she has always been an adult.
As a baby she'd scream outrage at being strapped into her car-seat.  She was supposed to be up front where she could see the whole world.
About 3 weeks ago she brought home a page ripped from a magazine.  A hair-lipped child stared out from it,  an image Sophie couldn't ignore.
"Mom, we need to donate money.  Look at her, isn't that so sad?"
How could I say,
"No, Sophie.  We can't really fix this problem.  We are too insignificant.  If you donate money to every heart-wrenching image, you'll be running around writing checks your whole life, and the children will still suffer."
Instead I said,
"Okay.  I'll write you a check for ten dollars."
I got her an envelope, and highlighted the address so she could write it herself.
It went out in the mail this morning.
That kid with the hair-lip watched me from the kitchen counter for 3 weeks.  I couldn't throw her away.
My eating disorder wants me asleep.  When I'm in the food, I am on auto-pilot, soaring from food to food.  It is an odd sensation, because I am afraid to stop eating.  When I stop, I am forced to realize all that I have consumed.  So it is better to just keep going.  Then I don't have to know.  The guilt can't catch me.
All the things I intended to do get pushed out to make room for my excess.  The magazine page would have gone in the garbage had it gotten in the way of a binge.  Not only would it reflect my gluttony, but also my apathy. So it would have to rest with the slimy banana peels and coffee grounds.

Me listening...

Eating disorder recovery is the sloth of them all.  And just like a sloth.  It is amazing that it can survive. Writing this blog helps me see the movements I would otherwise miss.