I Won't Do That

I find it easy to eat my way through any situation. Mildly depressed:
Time for food. Celebrating: Time for food. Sick: Let's eat! Tired:
Just a nightcap.

But the one time I find I simply can't eat is when I'm crying or on
the verge of tears. I've done it before, but there's something about
that kind of multitasking that clashes in my brain. Perhaps it's a
sense of pathos derived from the desperation that comes from a
complete lack of control -- when I've lost control of my emotions,
losing control of my consumption drives me over the edge of reason.
Disembodied, I can see myself as the fat girl crying as she stuffs her
face, chomping through gasps of breath while the tears roll down her
cheeks, and I feel so pathetic that whatever was bothering me in the
first place just gets that much worse.

So whenever I'm crying, I don't eat.

This is why I lost weight when my heart was broken in summer of 2003.

Five and a half years later, and I'm staring at my unopened yogurt.
Maybe I'll give it another try in an hour.