It’s a telling tale when you have gone for four months without a “friend”. I did visit with “wine” twice. One time with one glass visit, the other a two glass visit. I have to admit I felt bad for “wine”. I did not enjoy the company. The taste was like drinking rubbing alcohol. It didn’t have the old familiar sweet aroma. It was not longer a friendship I felt close to, nor a feeling of possessiveness or obsession of the way it used to seemingly complement the meal I was having, or a source of achiement, a reward or sorts, for a hard long day at work. Wine has lost its place in my heart, my mind and my soul.
This brings me to the same feeling I have about my bulimia. However, in the case of my bulimia, I am enjoying what was to me an enemy. Unlike wine being my friend, food used to be my enemy. I find this to be an interesting view. The desire to banish what I have eaten is no longer a question. Food nourishes me, as is now my feelings of desire to accomplish, to be active, to read, to fulfill a side of me that wine could not and that food does not, but complements.
I am just about to finish the novel “Eat Pray Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert. I am feeling a sort of sorrow knowing its coming to an end. I have no idea what I want to read next. I have a few books on my iPad, but I like to hold the pages in my hands. I like the feeling of turning the pages.
Today, one of the lines I truly enjoyed was when her boyfriend tells her she is like a snail. That she carries her home on her back. I could relate to this very well. In the 23 times I have moved, I have made a home wherever I have chosen to be. I realized that the home is what I put in it. The few belongings I have lugged around with me that make my new places familiar. But that is the only thing that keeps me calling a place a home.
I don’t know where, in the external world, outside my right now tiny apartment, I belong. I do not have any real friends other than my dogs and cats that I can just call up and go out with. Having said that, I am quite a loner, and quite enjoy being so. But there are the times when I would love to have someone to come by and share the deck with that overlooks a wondrous big pond with all the beauty of being in the country in the middle of a city. I would love to have some interesting conversations about travel and passions, and such. I’m not saying I don’t have any friends at all. But I don’t have that one or two friends you know that you can count on now and again to get together and do something spontaneously. I miss that.
Growing up, even when I moved around, I always found that one friend. We were inseparable almost. But I suppose when I got married, I took on his friends and I really didn’t have that one friend anymore. And then when I divorced it was apparent that I had really no one left. I did end up with a boyfriend to take that place… but when we broke up it was like I didn’t even want one. I was tired of losing friends from moving and life experiences, that I chose to not have one. Until last year. I met someone that was my perfect best friend. I finally found that one person I had longed to have in my life. No commitments other than friendship. We had so much fun together. A year later he died, leaving me thinking again that its not worth the pain. Yet I want this again. I know though that these are not things you can just go out and find. They are rare and beautiful occurences when you finally find that one person you just look forward to spending time with.
Well, I do have thousands of thoughts that are as disconnected as this post, but I will leave them for another night. Maybe, just maybe, I will find solace in my writing and sending it out there to whomever cares to read it and to respond.
To all who have read it… have a great night… until the next time.