Clear Lake

I've been living off Kix cereal.
It's safer this way.
I look at my cat and think,
"You've got it made.  You don't have to make any choices.  You eat the same thing everyday.  To you food is food.  Lucky."
______________________________________________________________________________
14 years ago I lived in New Jersey in my uncle's house.
I was 19 years old.
I ate all day everyday.
I gained 40 pounds in 3 months.
The only thing that fit me was a pair of red satin pajamas because the waist band was elastic.
I ate until my stomach hurt.  Went to sleep.  Woke up, and started eating again
I had never experienced addiction like this before.
I was afraid of myself.
Each morning my resolve became flimsier, like a childhood blanket worn down to lace.
My daydream, as I dipped chocolate chips into peanut butter, was for someone to come and lock me up.
I just wanted to go where someone would make all my decisions for me.  The last bit of awareness, of light in me, seemed the source of my pain.  If I could just kill that, I wouldn't have to dig up and out of this pit.  I could just lay here and eat waffles dipped in whipped cream.
I wouldn't have to know that I had gone from a size 2 to a size 14 in one summer.  I wouldn't have to try to understand why I ate a whole box of granola bars when I was supposed to be babysitting the neighbor's kids.
I abused laxatives. I would eat the whole bag knowing it would heave itself through my system at 3 am.  But I had to do it.  I would put the bag down and come back to it 10 times until it was all gone.
When 3 am came I'd sit on the toilet and cry because I hated myself so much.  The pain was involuntary and acute.  It matched the way I ate.  I deserved this pain.  I was embarrassed.  I still don't know if my uncle heard me.  I can't bring myself to ask him.

I fear food because of this period in my life.
I have never been this out of control with food since, but I've lived in fear of it.
I have dreaded this time when I didn't even have the gumption to purge.  I just let it happen.  All the weight of it.  I bought bigger clothes, and bigger clothes.  I slowed to a stop in every way.

Now I run.  I run to keep myself awake.  To remember my body.
I read a meditation years ago, it has always stuck with me:

"In order to remain clean and clear
a lake must have inflow and outflow"

Writing is outflow.
I name what I see and think and feel and it becomes real.  It gives boundaries to my monsters, turns them into the ordinary.  It lights up moments into tiny well-lit paintings.  I stand back and smile.
Running is outflow.
I expend energy through legs and breath out in a wide spread.
Running is inflow.
I take in all oxygen around mouth, muscles get stronger, and the sun seeps into all exposed skin.
My children are outflow.
Every time I make eye contact, I give them some of myself.
My children are inflow.
They remind me to look out and all around.  They are substance.  They are real grace in plump bodies.
My marriage is outflow.
I let what I want, what I know, what I must defend,  what I fear............float downstream
My marriage is inflow.
Andrew caresses my face when he can see that I am weary.

And sometimes I get very weary.  I want to stop.
But I know what stopping feels like.  I know what it costs.
I know there is no relief in giving up running, or writing, or loving, or eating.
I find relief in the moments where my stride releases and I fly down the road.