To Have My Cake And (Not) Eat It Too

What a great array of sweets are made available to those of First World status!  And yet our wealth of bakeshop delicacies means nearly nothing to an anorexic --whether observance owes to a holiday, birth, matrimony, or other, more garden variety occurrence.

For entertainers in the television arena, there's no sweeter dessert than an Emmy --its sharply-stepped lightning bolt wings protruding triumphantly skyward-- to validate your efforts.  Although I remain begrudgingly removed from that industry in my own work, I was pleased to learn that this year's ceremony will be broadcast live from Los Angeles on the evening of the 25th, which just so happens to be my birthday.  It should offer a pleasant escape into red carpet pageantry and "insider" tattle, which I admittedly subscribe to now and then via the scrolling headlines of online gossipmongers.  My father's health has been touch-and-go, his system (and attitude) showing stubborn resistance and mild collapse under more aggressive approaches to chemotherapy.  Fortunately, today he's demonstrating improved resolve on most if not all fronts and, with it, my own outlook has rebounded somewhat.  If the recent, frustrating days in --which I watched him dismiss offers of nourishment, succumbing to anguish both physical and cerebral-- have left me with any leading lesson, it is that most acquaintances, be they family or other ilk, expect that I would not be so petty as to distract from his battle competing issues of my own.  But in truth, my "demon" is also a disease, malignant and very real.  I understand many will regard me as loathsome to air grievance, especially as a white American living under the umbrella of my parents' charity (with government assistance an inestimable boon unto itself, and recognized as such).  However, I simply must repeat that living with an eating disorder is not a walk in the park.  (Okay, some days it IS less of a struggle to get by and DOES in fact involve charging through a public green or plaza no and then.)  But a paralyzingly fear of change, and with it any increases in calorie measure or content, keeps me leash-bound to a very limited spectrum of foods and possible endeavors.  I try to address this dilemma with a sort of Groundhog Day approach --wherein I exploit the redundancy of a restricted routine to improve my art and attitude in baby steps. But hours free from household chores/nurse-care/wedding prep/compulsive exercising/paralyzing sleep are fleeting.  I am jealous of my father in that even when ill he still manages to consume much more than I might on any given day.  And he knows not of the tremendous guilt I feel when I do "indulge," even if I reassure myself that food is the power force necessary for life (and that I am all-too-haggard anyway).  I am fortunate to permit myself great quantities of iced tea to take the edge off an empty stomach; thus I realize I don't have it "all so bad."  I just wish I could grasp the nettle --or, more accurately, the provisions and possibilities made available to me-- without someone having to hold my hand for reassurance.  I yearn to strike a balance between obeying the rules of my disorder and the allowances of a "normal" eater ---to have my cake and (not) eat it too.  Most clinics dealing with anorexia strive to eradicate it outright, but I believe this is unrealistic once you've *literally* embodied it, as I have, for a lifetime --that compromise is (for those patients of somewhat advanced age) a more feasible solution.  Even with a major fashion event like an awards show I spend most of the telecast away from a TV because, unless watching from a gym, I cannot incorporate exercise into rapt scrutiny of the screen.  Instead, you'll more likely find me zipping down the backstreets of town, catching newly-released photos of the dresses being paraded via iPhone.  Then, with energy sufficiently spent, I'll make my way home.  There I'll prepare a late dinner, changing into more comfortable attire and cleaning myself of the day's goo 'n grime in the process.  I eventually situate myself comfortably in order to tune-in, but by that tardy stage of the proceedings most newsworthy happenings have been seen and commented on by the world and I am again late to the table.  By my own volition, once again I come up short.

A part of me envies those who show resourcefulness in helping themselves (especially to a treat).

POSTSCRIPT -- At last weekend's Creative Arts Emmys, Discovery Channel's crab fishing reality series Deadliest Catch netted a trophy for Outstanding Cinematography in its field.  And the title of the episode submitted?  "Careful What You Wish For."  Not yet sure of the implication, but I'll consider that a sign.