I have fallen off the wagon. Or more accurately, I have vaulted with focus and determination from the wagon of moderation, control and possibly mental health. I didn’t plan it, although looking back I can see that I’ve been leading up to this moment all week. I am prowling the bakery section of a Safeway gazing at the displays of donuts, boxes of cookies, individual slices of cakes and cheerfully decorated cupcakes. My rational voice whispers, (from far back into recesses of my consciousness were it’s been relegated), “Why are you doing this?” And my emotional voice, the one that is in control right now responds, “Because Fuck it. That’s why.”
I don’t even know what I’m looking for, its been so long since I indulged that I can’t even remember what my favorites are…did I ever even have a favorite? I feel sad and a little lost not to have a ”go to” dessert, a fall back indulgence, a fail safe cheat. “What has my life become?” I wonder. “Maybe this is the problem,” I think and I slide my hands into the pockets of my jeans and I feel my new stomach muscles and this provides another opening for the rational voice to say ”Just leave. You don’t have to do this.” And I feel a moment of doubt about my actions, but it is quickly squashed with another eloquent “Fuck it! I’m doing this.” But I realize that I might better be able to control the rational side if I apply some rules to my fall. So I decide that I can get anything I want, as long as I can consume it all in this one night, because Monday I will start over, I will confess to my trainer and get back on the program. And that makes this night of over-indulgence ok. And it feels good to own this choice, this choice to jump into the abyss , and I know then that I will do it. Fuck limits. Fuck calorie counting and “smart choices” and food journals. Fuck all of it. Rational voice, now pushed further into the recesses of my consciousness wonders “why now, why this night?” But I’m not about to start inspecting my reasons. I’m excited now – its been months since I’ve given myself this kind of freedom.
“Ice cream,” I think suddenly, “THAT’s my fall back dessert.” I head toward the freezer section and feel better for having direction.
I start at one end of the aisle and walk slowly, evaluate each item I pass.
I make it to the end of the ice cream aisle without having found IT. I turn and make my way back down. Ice cream cookies…maybe…individual servings of Ben & Jerry’s, a box of Godiva ice cream bites…possibly. I narrow my choices to half the aisle- the half that contains the individual servings of ice cream and the novelties. I’m pacing back and forth, casing the freezer case like an alcoholic outside a bar, waiting for something good enough to justify pulling the trigger. As I pivot on my heel to make another pass at the giant cooler my path is suddenly blocked by a family of plus size individuals evaluating the cheese selections across the aisle. Then another family stands huddled in front of the ice cream cookies. I look around and realize that the formerly empty aisle is now fairly crowded with people. “What the fuck?” I want to shout. I am completely indignant that they have interrupted my my moment. I have to bite back the words “Get out of my FUCKING WAY – this is my night, my only chance to do this and you are IN MY WAY!” I’m momentary unfamiliar to myself as I realize how irrational that sounds, but then I don’t care. But I take a deep breath and hover near the Popsicles (not even entered into consideration) until the aisle is again clear and I can resume my pacing. I start to get frustrated that I can’t find what I want, which is because I don’t know what I want. This is no small choice – you can’t fall off the wagon with a Weight Watchers single serve ice cream cup. There’s no glory in that. It has to be big, gooey, overflowing with calories and fat and sugar enough to drown out the guilt, to shut down certain brain functions. It has to be Absolute Decadence. My rational voice whispers ”That’s going to make you sick,” and I know that’s true, but I also know that I don’t care. I welcome it even, because then I’ll know why I feel hollow and gross inside. Which I think would be a nice change from now, when I can’t understand where this vague sense of depression and self loathing are coming from.
Suddenly inspiration strikes and I leave the ice cream aisle and go to the “dessert” case – where the cakes and pies and whip cream are kept…As I evaluate the options I realize I’m chanting Absolute Decadence in my head like a mantra. Key lime pie? It hardly counts if its not chocolate. Chocolate volcano? It has to be heated up, too much effort. Defeated, I return to continue to stalk the ice cream aisle again. I’m starting to get frustrated with myself and my rational voice pipes up to say “You don’t have to do this. You can just go home, have one of the peaches you bought yesterday and go to bed.” “NO!” I say, almost out loud. “I’m doing this. I’m not going to fail in my attempt at self-destruction on top of everything else!”
I know I’m losing focus, won’t be able to fight the rational voice much longer, so I grab a single serving of Cherry Garcia and Mint Chocolate Chunk and I head to the checkouts. I drop one or the other of the miniature ice cream containers 4 times before I’m out of the aisle. As I walk toward the checkouts I start to second guess my choices, knowing I haven’t achieved total decadence. “Krispy Kreme!” I think and I go past the checkouts back to the pastry section. I arrive at the donut display cabinet to find a young couple standing in front of it, and I’m immediately irritated. I circle around the displays of cakes and cookies in case something else might catch my attention, but no, it has to be a donut. The girl has wondered off, but the guy is standing there, door to the display case open, blocking the Krispe Kremes, not choosing a donut, but instead staring at them as if he doesn’t know what they are for, and I am completely overcome with a sensation that it is utterly and completely absurd and offensive that there are any other people here at all. I am filled with a ridiculous belief that in this momentous moment I should be alone in the store – alone in my moment. “Fuck it,” I say knowing I’m dangerously close to ceding control of my night to my rational voice, because I’m starting to scare myself with the number of irrational thoughts that are filling my head. And I know that to fail in this mission will be the final straw. I head back toward the checkouts, and see for the first time that no open line has fewer than 10 people in them, including the self check which probably has closer to 15 people. “WHAT THE FUCK IS EVERYONE DOING AT SAFEWAY AT 9:30 ON A SATURDAY NIGHT?!” I scream in my head. And I know, with absolute certainty that to attempt to stand in one of those lines with my two measly containers of ice cream will put me over the edge – toward rational thought or insanity I’m not sure, but either way, it won’t be pretty. I consider ditching the ice cream right there in the cracker aisle, but then think “its not the ice cream’s fault,” and so head back across the store to the freezer section. I throw them into the first freezer I get to and, free of my reason for being in the store, claustrophobia begins to set in. The store is too dark, too dirty, I feel like everyone is watching me and its getting hard to breathe. I head to the exit doors on that side of the store, focused only on getting outside. I walk up to the automatic door and nothing happens. I push against it, assuming that the sensor is just too slow, but it won’t budge. I try the door next to it, and it won’t budge either. I take a step back and run my hands through my hair as I suppress a scream and say instead, ”I’m going to lose my mind!” I turn and now I KNOW everyone is watching me, so I speed walk back across the store to the other exit, wondering when this Safeway became such a dump. I burst into the parking lot, and gulp air as I craft Plan B – the Carvell Store near my apartment. I’ll go there and I’ll get an ice cream sundae.
As I drive over there I acknowledge that it is unlikely I’ll even eat half of the Sunday before I’m too sick or too full to continue. I fully acknowledge, for the first time all night that its a waste of money, of time, and of calories. But I don’t care. Its never really been about the junk food, and I’m ready to face that now. I am not craving ice cream so much as a definable ill. I just don’t get why I feel so…bad. So he’s gone. So what? I knew he was going, and technically we broke up months ago, and I’ve already done the processing, I’ve put everything in its boxes and put the boxes away, so why have I been plagued with this riotous concoction of anger, relief, fear, resentment, freedom for the past 2 days which has now simmered down to be just a pervasive feeling of…ick.
And now that I’m finally facing it, I know that its because this time it’s for real and forever. This time he’s on the other side of the world, fighting in a war because that’s the only place where he really feels happy. That’s the only place where his life makes sense to him. I get that now. There is a part of me that’s relieved, relieved because its so clear finally. Clear that it’s not about me, it’s not about how much or how little, or how well or how poorly I loved him. It’s not even about how much or how little he loved me. Its really nothing more than the old fish/bird real estate question: We are from two different worlds – two worlds that can’t be bridged. And so this is it. The real and final end, and I feel it in a way I never did before. And I know it is as it should be, and I know that I’ll be fine, better even than I have been. I know this in a way I didn’t the other times. And that, I realize as I pull open the door to the Carvel, is why I can have this night, why I need this night of self destruction and gluttony. Because I have to embrace all of it and face all of it before I can fully move on. And if there is one thing that I am confident in, its my ability to move on from Army Guy.
