When I was a kid, food was always an issue. My dad apparently didn’t believe in eating breakfast, or lunch. Of course there cereal, but the milk would be spoiled, or all gone. There would be no tea to drink, only black coffee. The sugar was gone so often that I didn’t bother to check for it, and the milk.. already covered. So, there was nothing but toast but the jelly would have mold on it. of course my Dad didn’t think that there was a problem with eating moldy food, so sometimes the bread would be moldy also. That left me with little to eat for lunch. Lucky for me, there were a few smart teachers who would call my Dad, and make sure that I was given both breakfast and lunch at school. But that didn’t start until they figured out that I was using my birthday money on food.
When I got older, things got a little better. I started cooking, and thus got leftovers for lunch. That became cool when I got to high school because I would eat good for me food, and my friends wanted to be healthy. The problem then became getting proper food. There was a period of a few months where my diet was almost nothing but shitty iceberg lettous. I was still at the age where I needed a work permit, my parents wouldn’t sign it without me handing over my paycheck. I didn’t have a place that I could have hide the money safely. My room was considered fair game for searches. So, I wasn’t given food that had any nutritional value, and I didn’t have a single safe person who was willing to help me get it.
On top of this, I was always told that I was “fat” and my dad gave me various pills. They got flushed. I know, that’s bad to do with them, but It’s what I had to do. I didn’t want to take them. My problem wasn’t that I needed pills, I needed food that was healthy. If I ate too much, I was fat. If I ate too little, then I was being disrespectful for not liking the food.
So, I’ve already had food issues. This is only the ground work for the real problem. My last exboyfriend refused to eat anything that i cooked after a little while. He would then get offended if I didn’t like or eat the food that he made, or wanted to go out and eat. But I wanted healthy food, not fat and sugar filled stuffs. But, I let him cook, and I gained weight. As this happened, he got steadily more abusive. I don’t know if it was about my weight, or if it was about him being an asshole. But, it happened.
Then, earlier on the night he attacked me, he odored a pizza for us… one with meat on it… despite it being the one that I was paying for, and it was celebrating for me, and I don’t like meat on pizza. I like vegetables, and lots of them. He knew this, yet disregarded my tastes at my celebration, on my dime…
so, now the girl who has post-tratamic-stress can’t handle sitting down with a group of people and eating. So, I’m skipping Thanksgiving this year. I will not force my self into an experience that is high pressure, and likely to end bad with people who won’t understand. I say that because the ones who do understand let me just say “not this year” and answer with “ok” or “I understand” or “I’m here to talk about it.”