Sitting with sadness.

I've mentioned before that my husband and I have serious marital problems. In recent weeks, we've been having a minor crises 3 times a week. I've not had my favorite foods to self-medicate with. Today I told him that there is a great possibility that he just couldn't make me happy and I asked him to leave for awhile, so we could both have some space. Usually we cling to one another, but not today. I don't know where he is and I don't know what he's doing. I know, though, that I have to find a way to be with my sadness and not use food as a balm.

Not potato chips and not pretzels. Not candy and not yogurt. I know I have to eat to live but I can't eat because I feel as though my life is falling apart.

I used to love my husband more than anyone, more than I should have. I used to be proud of him and proud of our relationship. I used to feel sure that we were going to be a family forever, that I had been lucky enough to find my soulmate. Now I know it isn't so.

It's so much harder to type and cry and cry and type than to just call for delivery and stuff down my feelings. It's so much harder to feel the waves of pain and anxiety and humiliation and not have anything to which to cling. I don't believe in God and I don't believe in destiny. Many days, I don't even believe in myself. I've always believed in food, though. The certainty of a sugar rush, the constancy of food's availability. It wasn't much but it was what I had. I always knew that depression was really creeping into my soul, really threatening my life, that suicide was really an option, when I stopped eating. Food was my life and when I gave that up, my contemplation of death was real and genuine.

This time, though, I know that I don't want death and I don't want food to be my life. I want a life that is fairly happy and fairly normal, one that is creative and productive and interesting. For today at least, I can sit with my sadness and not use food as a crutch. One day, I'll be happy. Not today, but one day.