I came to a really scary conclusion yesterday...

And it's scary only because it shows me how fucked up my coping mechanisms are.

I realized yesterday that I tend to eat in relation to my heart.

When I first fell in love, I was healthy. Eating the right foods, exercising... taking care of myself. But after my heart was broken that first time, I stopped eating. Literally. I lost my appetite and became afraid of ingesting food. For some twisted reason, I thought that eating would make things worse. And for the following three years after that incident, I struggled with an eating disorder.

The second time I fell in love, I took even better care of my body. I felt good. I loved eating and was afraid of skipping meals for fear of falling into my old patterns.

But when it came time for the inevitable end... my eating habits changed.

I was lucky I didn't fall into another eating disorder, but it's very telling to me that every time things don't go well romantically, I stop eating. Add to that the fact that there are times in the past I've used eating as a rewarding system of sorts. And the fact that weight loss usually leads to a fear of eating.

The way I see it, not eating, to me (at least), is an addiction. One I continue to struggle with. One I'll probably always fall back on when things are out of sync.

And it's scary. Knowing I don't always feel like eating.

It's scary. Knowing I have to force myself to eat if/when I lose weight.

It's scary. Knowing that I'll probably always struggle with my eating habits.

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