Eating chores

I don’t remember when eating big meals became a chore for me.

It suddenly occurred to me one day that I didn’t exactly enjoy eating large portions of food anymore. I used to look forward to meals and certain foods or dinners out, but suddenly I realized this meant I would have to order some huge plate of food. The plate usually ends up three quarters full, while everyone else at the table has cleared theirs. The waiter comes around and looks at me, my plate, and then back at me. “Are you finished?” they ask. “Yes.” I say. “You sure?” they respond almost instantly. I want to scream, “Yes, I am fucking done! I’m sorry, I am so sorry. I know there are starving children all over the world. God, I am sorry.” But usually I just say “Could I get a box for this?” instead. At least that way they think I might finish it. This is why when a restaurant offers half salads or “smaller plates” I am ecstatic and dedicate myself to that part of the menu for the evening like it’s Jesus’ second coming.

Not that I like how people look at me when I order half a sandwich or just two chicken strips. I am already very skinny, and when an extremely thin girl with no fat or muscles whatsoever looks up and says “I’ll have half a salad”, the waiter usually thinks the worst. For once I wish I could gain some weight, just enough so that the person thinks “Oh yeah that’s fine she’s okay.” I feel funny when they’ve included “For those on a diet!” as part of the description of the smaller plates menu.

But let’s get this straight: I love food. I think it’s delicious and I have my favorites, like sushi and pasta. Food tastes amazing and for anyone to deny their human right to eat food is beyond me. I guess I mostly enjoy snacks here and there: coffee in a café, something in a bakery, a small appetizer. This is because these are easy to consume and small, and, having practically no appetite, it’s hard for me to eat a monstrous plate of salad. I like sitting and chatting and eating little bites of food here and there. It gives me something to do while I talk, almost like when a person who smokes only likes the motion and fashion of holding the cig for conversational purposes.

I like the social aspect of dining out. I like to be with people, to talk, to laugh. The eating part is a job I have to complete to make it to the enjoyable part. My burrito is a mountain to be scaled. If I can get through a good chunk, it will look like I tried my hardest. If I shove my salad around it will look more eaten.

I would love to eat out and order a salad, soup, an entrée, and then a great dessert. If my stomach would let me, I really would. The problem is, I get tired of dishes quickly and wish I could switch to something else in the middle of it. Life, unfortunately, does not work like that. Ever. Once you start something, you finish it. Only problem is, I never finish the food I order. Dining out I constantly wish I could switch my entrée platter halfway through eating because I am sick of the taste and how it looks and it’s smell. I become repulsed by the food. Then I get criticized for not finishing it. What can I do when each bite I take after it becomes boring to me makes me want to regurgitate everything?

Some times I’m sick of eating, but I can’t stop. When I’m bored, I eat. In class when I don’t want to work, I take constant sips from my iced tea or water bottle. At home, I snack here and there so big meals aren’t as hard to get through and I only take the minimum on my plate to eat.

Big portions scare me.
They’re intimidating.

When I do manage to get through almost an entire plate of food (this usually only happens when I am deciding my own portions), I cannot take the last bite. I always have to leave something on my plate. A few of my friends find this really annoying and kind of petty, but they have no idea what is going through my head. I cannot take that last bite or everything will end. How can they not see the balance of the world is left in that piece of tortilla or baby carrot? My god, people’s lives are at stake!

I suppose I don’t discuss this with people because, looking back, it sounds like I have some obscure eating disorder. This has been a topic of controversy in my circle for some time and I generally hate it when people think they are helping me with some intervention. I am not anorexic. Absolutely not. I just said I love food, didn’t I? I don’t hate food, I hate the amounts in which it is presented to me. In mountainous volumes, food makes me sick. I will push it away. I cannot understand how people finish the food restaurants serve these days.

I’d really prefer a half salad. Don’t look at me like that. I really do like salad.