I’m Not Crazy; I’m Hungry

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A bout of insomnia last weekend made me think of this story.

During the second semester of our sophomore year of college, Penny and I decided that we were going to stop drinking as much, join Weight Watchers, and lose weight. As a team, this seemed incredibly possible. Mama Missy and her roommate were doing it. We could too.

So we joined up. We got skinny. We looked WAY hot. But… we cried a lot. We had given up the drink for water. Butter and cheese for cooking spray and butter flavored spray. Chips for veggies. The list goes on. This was when Penny and I came up with the Cinderblocks.

So it was strange that even though we were crying…we managed to get boyfriends. Sheila, Penny, and I all became non-singles in a span of 4 months–me being the last, of course. After a summer of wearing size 11 pants and medium tops, I felt like I was on top of the world. Sort of. On the verge of my first “adult relationship,” I moved into our junior year apartment.

This may seem a little crazy, but I was REALLY annoyed by the situation in the kitchen. Pots were in the same cabinet with bowls. Utensils were as far away from the stove as possible. Glasses were with plates and baking dishes, and other cups were with kitchen gadgets. It. Just. Didn’t. Make. Sense. Anyone can see that, right?

So when I couldn’t sleep one night…and woke up at 4 o’clock in the morning…I decided that it was silly to waste time that I was wide awake. I was going to do something. So I rearranged the entire kitchen. It took several hours. It freaked my roommates out. But it felt so much better. I felt much better. Maybe that’s when I started to notice my OCD tendencies, but whatever. I wasn’t crazy.

So I had my moments. We all did. After talking with my dad and the school health center doctor, I decided to try out Zoloft. I was told that it would take time to kick in, but really after 2 or 3 years, I don’t think it ever kicked in. I’m pretty sure that breaking up with Johnny for good and my minimized crazy were eerily related. But that’s a whole other story for another time.

So I went on some medication that was supposed to make me less “crazy,” but then my boyfriend broke up (for the first of many times) with me because I was “crazy.” Really, I think that I was hungry. I wasn’t eating cheese, because it would make me gain weight. I wasn’t happy with my lifestyle. It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t indulgent. It wasn’t me. This is not to say that I would rather be the fat kid…But I would rather find a healthy way to enjoy cheese…err, to enjoy good food.

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One Response

  1. Hahahahaha. Cheese: The ultimate anti-depressant. There’s the title of your first book, Christine. We’ll do some “studies” and then publish them. Nobody pays attention to the science anyway!

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