Glutony

The assignment: Here are the seven deadly sins: lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, pride. Pick one and write about an episode from your life using one of these sins as your theme.

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"Are you hungry?"
"No, I just want to eat."Friday nights in the dorm were ice cream bar night. For me, ice cream is like Mary Tyler Moore—ice cream can take a nothing date and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile. The bar was full of the typical stuff—M&Ms, chocolate sauce, whipped cream, cherries, etc. I wasn't adventurous; I just liked more of the same.

I think I ate to feel the stuff in my mouth. I packed it in like a hamster. At the end of the meal, I wasn't exactly satisfied—more like drowning in some kind of perverse enjoyment that came from knowing that I could eat as much of the severely unhealthy food as I wanted. My gut was screaming for relief. I ate just before beginning my shift washing pots and pans in the cafeteria kitchen; therefore, few of my friends were around. I was alone, eating ice cream like a wino drinks alcohol.

The first thing I did when I got to my station was head to an out-of-the-way corner of the basement. I opened a lonely door in the back and walked down a metal stairway that wouldn't have passed the most lazy state safety inspection. I was in workers’ territory with boilers and stepladders. Not only was this toilet out of the way, but there was a lock and only one seat. I stuck my finger down my throat to make myself throw up. At first when I got the finger down there, only a bit of the food came up. I got the most satisfaction when I experienced a total reversal and something like that puking scene in “Stand by Me” went into the water.


One Saturday night, we went to an Oktoberfest celebration. I ate some bratwurst, and drank a beer. I decided my mouth liked the feel and taste of mustard, and mayonnaise, and pork fat, surrounded by bread…so I ate another bratwurst. Then I added a beer. I wasn't drunk, and I didn't feel exactly full. I didn't want to get drunk, though, and I didn't want to digest all the crap in my stomach.

I had given myself permission to eat a lot because I knew that I could puke it up later. This practice was like the elephant in the basement. I hid from people and didn't talk about it. I guess I knew that it wasn't a positive behaviour.

Nancy was a girl on the dorm floor who was nice to me. We had the beginnings of a romantic relationship. She saw me come back to the crowd at the Oktoberfest celebration. I had been back in the trees in the dark.

"What were you doing?"
"I was over there throwing up."
"What? Are you sick?"
"Not really, I just didn't want all this slop in my stomach."

She was immediately concerned as only a person who had experienced an eating disorder could be. She grabbed my hands to look at the backs of them. People who do voluntary puking often have scrapes and scabs on the back of their hands from grating against their teeth while they make themselves gag.

Her concern made me happy. My chronic case of adolescent insecurity was rearing its ugly head again. Someone actually cared about me. I suddenly realized, and I told her, that I did the puking exercise until someone told me to stop. ANYONE who found out would have probably told me to stop, but the fact that someone did meant that person took enough interest in me to be concerned. When I saw that there was somebody out there who cared enough to want me to stop doing this strange, potentially damaging behaviour, I would stop—and I did; I never made myself puke again.