#or also just the ravenous late night meat cravings at it again

[mothnoir]

That late night craving for a food you can't place but you can very much place it this time

[icyharrington]

Is It Wrong?- THE PREQUEL- Part 1 (Michael Langdon X Reader)

so basically,,,, i took my adhd meds for class this morning, and then suddenly got super inspired to write this, so i figured i couldnt waste the focus and wrote this whole ass thing in a few hours. this is the first part of a 3-part prequel series, which details the events leading up to the first part of iiw! just a whole lot more teen angst, drama, fuckboy michael, and more... there isn’t going to be any SMUT smut for obvious reasons, but in a future part there is going to be some dirty stuff ;) anyway i know this will prob flop but this is the first full length fic i’ve written in months and i had a lot of fun writing it, so ima post regardless ^__^

plot: things are turning upside for you now that the biggest fuckboy in school, michael langdon, is about to become your stepbrother. if you think shit is crazy now, wait til you find out that this is just the prequel 😏

warnings: underage drinking, talk of sexual shit, teen angst, sexual tension, taboo relationships 

wc: 4.2k 

i.

It wasn’t like you didn’t want your dad to be happy.

You did, of course you did.

You’d seen him, engulfed in his loneliness, floating from day to listless day like some kind of cheesy Victorian spectre. Too many times you’d found him alone at night, one hand cradling a glass of sewer-brown liquor, the other thumbing through worn photo albums extracted from dust-ridden shelves in the living room. You hadn’t known your mother well- she’d died back when you were still in diapers, but what you did know was that she’d been a vibrant light in your father’s world that had been unjustly snuffed out in its prime. He was a good father to you, and you knew you made him happy despite the dull ache ever-present in his heart, but it was evident that deep down he craved a companionship you could never provide.

So of course you were glad when he met Miriam. Of course you were glad when you’d seen his beaming smile, sharing the news, with the giddiness of a teenage girl in love, that he’d found somebody. He was practically glowing, that night he’d gone out for their first date. You’d known it’d been special to him, because he’d shelled out a few hundred to treat them both to a fancy dinner; he’d even gotten her a bouquet of flowers on the drive there.

You hadn’t said anything when he’d gushed to you the next day about how he’d found the one, despite having known her for only a week; sure, he was rushing into things, but at least he was happy! And that was all you wanted- for him to be happy.

That was why you were especially crushed when you finally met Miriam’s teenage son, whom your father had briefly mentioned with a passing “he goes to your high school, maybe you know him”.

There were so many boys at your school that it was impossible to guess who your potential stepbrother might be. The prospect that you might know him didn’t bother you too much, though you did think it might be a little awkward upon first meeting, but really what did it matter? A little bit of teenage shyness was a small price to pay for your father’s newfound happiness.

That is, until you met him.

So really, it wasn’t like you didn’t want your dad to be happy.

That wasn’t the case at all.

You just really, really, wished he’d fallen in love with anyone other than the mother of Michael fucking Langdon.

ii.

“Oh, you’re so pretty,” Miriam gushed over a glass of Chardonnay, which had already been defaced with aubergine lip prints around the golden rim. “Gosh, I just wish I had your hair. Mine was fried from years of coloring, so I just chopped it all off!”

You smiled sweetly, observing your father’s glimmering eyes as he hung onto every word that rolled off her tongue, menus still stacked neatly in the middle of the table as you awaited the fourth and final guest. The three of you had been there for fifteen minutes already, and still her son had not arrived.

I guess his study session is running late, she’d explained, after seeing your furrowed brows at her lack of accompaniment. It was the first time you were meeting your father’s new love interest and her son, and you were rapidly growing more and more anxious in anticipation of the big reveal.

Studying, you’d thought, racking your brain. So maybe he’s one of the nerdy teacher’s pet types? You could certainly live with that; there were a great deal of others you could think of who would be far worse to potentially become step-siblings with.

“Thanks, Ms… Mead, did you say it was?”

You weren’t sure you knew of any boys whose last name was Mead; he definitely had to be someone you hardly knew.

“Oh, honey, call me Miriam,” she said warmly, and you nodded, unsure of what to say next.

Miriam was certainly not what you’d imagined your father’s girlfriend to be like, not that you cared either way; she sported short, dark hair with vampy makeup, clad in all black with a tasteful leather jacket to match. She was also a bit older than you’d anticipated, with fine lines adorning her rounded face, but again, none of that mattered to you at all. She seemed perfectly sweet, and you had no complaints about her thus far.

“Okay, Miriam,” you said, feeling somewhat peculiar addressing an adult by their first name, “so, remind me, how’d you guys meet again?”

“Well, it’s a funny story, really,” Miriam chuckled, plucking a dinner roll from the woven basket across from her and dropping it onto her plate. Her dark eyes shifted from you to your father, poising an impeccably groomed raven brow. “Should you tell it, or should I?”

“Oh, you should, definitely,” your father said, sipping his wine.

“Okay, okay. Well, we were in the meat section at the grocery store when we both reached for the last steak on sale. So I looked at him, and I told him- oh my, this is embarrassing- (your dad’s name), you finish!”

Your father looked like he was about to bust out into laughter, and, suppressing a snort, he blurted, “she said she’d cut off my hands if I took it!”

Immediately after the words left his lips, the two fell into boisterous hysterics that ushered forward a few disapproving glances from the stuffy rich assholes at the next table over, and you couldn’t help but laugh a little yourself. Well… she definitely was a character, but as long as your father was being kept entertained…

“Hey mom,” came a sudden, inappropriately loud male voice from behind you, so out of place that you nearly jumped from your seat. “I was helping Dan with the world war three chapter in our textbook, he sucks at geography shit.”

The voice’s owner revealed himself as a tall, blond boy, who promptly slid into the empty chair beside you, chiseled face slightly obscured by the deep shadows resulting from the dimness of the restaurant’s ambient lighting.

This was, indeed, somebody that you knew, and you blinked twice to be sure that your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you.

It took you a few seconds to register the direness of the situation at hand, but once the thought processed in your mind, you about descended into an out-of-body experience.

This couldn’t be.

No way.

No motherfucking way.

You’d never been all too much of a religious person, but in that moment, you found yourself silently begging whatever higher power was out there that this was all just some sick, cosmic prank.

The boy turned his head to give you a good, uncomfortably long look, stupidly perfect mouth twisting into an amused sideways grin, and then he spoke. “Ohh shit, (y/n)? (Y/n) (y/l/n)?”

He spoke your name like it was a punchline, tongue darting out to lick his teeth like a lizard about to gobble up some poor, helpless cricket as you sat there with your jaw unhinged. You were at a loss for words, or at least almost, managing to croak out a pathetic, puny, “Michael.”

“Oh, good! You guys know each other already!” Miriam exclaimed, seemingly oblivious to the complete and utter horror that had just about finished swallowing you whole.

Michael let out a snort, roughly translating to ‘uhh, yeah, not that well… I’d never be caught dead hanging around with someone like (y/n)’, and you grimaced. “Yeah, a little bit. You were in math class with me last year, right?”

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to regain your composure for fear of feeding into this complete asshole’s already massive ego. Yeah, in fact, you had been in math class with him last year, and, not-so-coincidentally, that very same class had turned out to be the one you dreaded the most.

Michael Langdon was the most insufferable, mind-numbing, self-obsessed asshole that you’d ever had the displeasure of knowing; he was easily the most popular boy in the grade, and it was clear he was fully aware of his own high school bullshit prestige. He was loud, cocky and obnoxious; the type of fuckboy- yes, you knew the word fuckboy was overplayed, but in this case there was no other way to describe him- who’d loudly brag about his sexual escapades in the middle of the hallway to his flock of adoring fuckboy minions. He was an I-don’t-do-relationships type, a U-up-text-at-3am type, a Yo-dude-did-you-see-Zoe-Benson’s-tits-today type, a bro-I’m-so-fucking-baked-right-now type. Just the sound of his voice from across a crowded hallway was enough to make you physically recoil. And the worst part?

Every-fucking-body loved him.

Your complaints about him during lunch would only result in your friends cooing dreamily, as though he were some kind of sympathetic creature that needed babying: But he’s so cute, they’d say, twirling locks of their hair and fiddling with their bracelets. I’m sure he’s not that bad.

But he was that bad, and if they took off their shit-stained, teenage hormone-clouded rose tinted glasses for only a second, they’d see exactly what you saw.

It wasn’t only the students, either. He was able to get away with everything and anything he pleased, whether it be sneaking sips of vodka in a water bottle between classes or ditching class to smoke a joint behind the bleachers. There’d even been rumors that he’d fucked some senior girl in the handicap stall during the autumn pep rally while the rest of the student body was packed like sardines in the sticky-hot gymnasium, subjected to incremental barks from the football coach to scream louder and louder.

How the hell was somebody as pleasant as Miriam the mother of such an incurable douchebag? And how, in all the unholy realms of hell, did your luck get so miserably bad that she ended up with your father?

It was all so fucking unfortunate that you almost wanted to laugh. And you probably would have, if not for the chance that you might puke all over your nice new sweater if you opened your mouth.

“You smell funny, hon,” said Miriam before you could reply. “Was Dan burning incense in his room?”

Oh, god. So she was one of those oblivious parents. You rolled your eyes; it made a lot of sense when you thought about it.

“Huh? Oh. Um, yeah. Incense,” Michael said, before suddenly extending his arm across the table to your father. “Oh shit, how rude of me. I’m Michael. Nice to meet you, man.”

Your father seemed unfazed my Michael’s distinct lack of manners as he accepted the boy’s hand and shook it, and you felt yet another knot twist up in the pit of your stomach as you realized that your father, too, had somehow been cast under Michael’s spell.

“Michael, we talked about this,” Miriam said under her breath, like she was scolding a child who didn’t know any better. “Keep the potty mouth to a minimal when we’re out in public, especially while we’re in such a nice restaurant.”

“Oh, sh…oot, sorry, mom,” Michael said with a faux-sheepish smile, his eyes flickering with amusement despite his supposed remorse. “And sorry to you too, sir. Bad habits.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mike- can I call you Mike?” your father said as they released hands, moving his to rest atop Miriam’s on the cloth-sheathed table. “I remember what it was like being a boy your age.”

You scoffed, loud enough that the table fell silent for a moment, and quickly you disguised it with a cough. Your cheeks went hot as all eyes laid on you, and you frantically scanned your brain for something to fill the silence with.

“So, um,” you said, clearing your throat. “Michael’s, uh, how come Michael’s last name isn’t Mead?”

Fuck. That sounded so fucking stupid. Instinctively, you felt your eyes wander to Michael to see if he was laughing at you, which you hated yourself for; why should his stupid, pea-brained opinion mean anything to you anyway? As much as you wanted to distance yourself from that idiotic, made-up high school hierarchy, you always wound up finding yourself being sucked back in, it seemed.

“Well, my late husband’s last name was Langdon, and since he was kind of a dirtbag, I decided not to keep his name after he passed,” Miriam said slowly, as if taking very careful thought to word herself correctly. You took in a breath; this seemed like a whole new can of worms that you hadn’t meant to open up.

“Hey, c’mon, don’t talk about dad like that,” said Michael, his tone only half-playful, eyebrow cocking as he flashed his mother a knowing look.

“You try being cheated on multiple times, Michael. Then you’ll see that dirtbag is really a nice way of putting it.”

Oh, sure, you thought bitterly. As if Michael fucking Langdon is even remotely capable of understanding someone else’s pain.

You took this as your cue to stand up from your seat, mumbling something about needing to use the restroom before scurrying off in the opposite direction as fast as you could without drawing attention to yourself. If ten minutes with Michael as your psuedo-stepbrother got to you this badly, you could only imagine how awful your life was about to get.

You could only hope that your father would find some reason to nip things in the bud with Miriam, but right now, that appeared to be an unlikely prospect.

iii.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t end my shit right here and now,” you griped to your best friend, who sat crosslegged on your bed as you stood idly before your floor-length mirror, arms dangling limply at your sides in an unintentional stance of defeat. Your face was one that you hardly recognized anymore, forehead creased with worry and eyes shadowed by bruise-colored rings from a seemingly endless barrage of sleepless nights; a week ago, your father had gleefully announced his and Miriam’s engagement; you of course, as his loving daughter, had to behave as though you hadn’t just received the worst news of your life, which somehow you’d pulled off (for a second you wondered why you’d never taken up theater, seeing at how convincing your acting could be sometimes). It was like you’d been plucked from the familiarity of your boring, normal world and dropped into your own personally tailored hell without any warning at all, though you couldn’t think of a single thing you’d done bad enough to warrant you deserving this. “The worst person on the planet is about to be my fucking stepbrother and nobody else seems to think this is a big deal!”

Your best friend shook her head, letting out a snort as if any of this was even remotely funny in the slightest. “So your stepbrother is hot and cool and he pisses you off. They literally make porn about that.”

You resisted the urge to take her by the shoulders and shake her until some semblance of sense entered her head, instead shoving your hands into the pockets of your jeans with a loud huff. “Yeah, but this isn’t fucking pornhub, (best friend’s name), this is real life! And I’d rather skin myself alive than sleep with that walking STD.”

“You have a lot more self respect than I do. It’s admirable,” she said, still startlingly calm for your liking, and you were beginning to believe that she’d never understand the mental turmoil you were currently suffering with. “Personally I’d ride him into the sunset, whether he had a herpes dick or not.”

You gagged, shaking your head with adamant disgust. Was she really that fucking horny? “You’re sick, you know that?”

“Sick for diiiiick,” she sang back, batting her eyelashes playfully at you. You turned away, scrounging up every weary shred of self restraint within you not to scream.

“Look, (b/f/n). I’m being serious right now. If you fuck him, or suck his dick, or whatever, I will literally never speak to you again.” Your tone was stern, and you faced her again to see whether your seriousness had computed in the hormonal wasteland that was her brain. There was an extended pause as she blinked at you, tilting her head to one side thoughtfully as she chewed her lipgloss-slick bottom lip.

“I mean, he wouldn’t fuck me anyways,” she finally said, still infuriatingly chipper. “I’m nobody. And he’s, like, royalty.”

“Jesus fucking Christ! I don’t care whether you think you have a chance with him!” You realized too late that you were nearly shouting, so you took in a shaky gulp of oxygen and coaxed yourself to soften your tone. The last thing you needed right now was for people to think you were losing your mind, although sometimes that was exactly what you felt like was happening. “Please, just promise me you won’t? I just need one aspect of my life not to involve him. Please?”

“Okay, fine,” she said, drawing her knees to her chest and settling her chin on top. “If it really matters that much to you, I’ll just shift my thirst to Dan Mott instead. That boy is a fucking snack and a half.”

A wave of almost-relief cascaded over your body, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself become one with this momentary victory.  

One year. Just one stupid, insignificant year until I can go away to college and forget all about him.

If you could survive that much, you told yourself, you’d be able survive anything.

You just hoped that intoxicating spell of his wasn’t strong enough to bring your best friend into his web of bullshit, alongside all the other girls who’d become entangled along the way.

If she did, you’d be stranded, left to run from Michael and his ever-expanding army all on your own.

iv.

In what seemed like a blink of an eye, the dreaded date of your father’s wedding ceremony arrived; now you stood amidst a small group of distant relatives at the subdued reception party, seeking refuge from the disturbing thought that, legally, Michael Langdon was now your brother, at the open bar.

You and your best friend had decided to make something of a game out of how many drinks you could finagle from the bartender without any adults noticing, which had ultimately proved to be pointless- an hour into the reception, your father had staggered over with two overflowing dirty Shirleys, thrusting them towards the two of you with a big, sloppy grin on his face.

To say he was in a good mood would be a severe understatement- the man was jovial, and you almost felt guilty for hating the circumstances of his marriage so much. By the raised-brow looks your best friend had been shooting at you all night, you knew she was thinking the same thing: that you were being selfish for worrying so much about yourself when this was the best thing that’d happened to your father in years. And maybe it was true; maybe you’d been so wrapped up in your own teen angst bullshit that you’d willingly blinded yourself from the truth. So, with your father’s beaming face dancing in the back of your mind, you pushed any thought about Michael back to the dredges where they belonged.

Fuck Michael Langdon. You couldn’t allow him the satisfaction of knowing that you were distraught, though you’d surely already made that pretty obvious over the past few months (he’d wasted no time in taunting you about it, seeming to relish in your death glares and eye rolls- hey, future sis! he’d crooned at you as you passed his table in the cafeteria one afternoon, nearly causing you to trip and spill your perfectly mediocre iced coffee all over yourself as his friends cackled like demented hyenas).

I’m not gonna let him bother me anymore.

I’m not gonna let him bother me anymore.

I’m not-

“SIS-TERRRRRR!”

Okay, this had to be some kind of divine test of will.

A blazer-glad arm flung itself around your shoulders and you flinched, immediately jerking away from your intoxicated stepbrother (god, it felt weird to refer to him that way) whose brash motions had sent you both stumbling.

“Getting shitfaced at your mom’s wedding… classy,” you spat, crossing your arms in front of your chest and narrowing your eyes at the blond-haired boy.

He was, admittedly, good-looking (only by conventional standards, of course); his lightly gelled blond hair had long since come undone, now soft and unkempt from hours of attention-whorish dancing, but you thought the disheveled look suited him better anyway (since his whole thing was to look like a grimy, rugged fuckboy, not because you personally found it attractive, obviously). He’d undone the top few buttons of his white top (no doubt the only formal article of clothing he owned), which was now stained beyond foreseeable repair with a colorful variety of liquids, and there was a bead of sweat traveling from his slick forehead to his model-sharp jaw. Even in disarray, he looked good, and you couldn’t help but hate him for it.

“God, you are so uptight,” he said, pale eyes flickering towards the multicolored ceiling in exaggerated annoyance as he dragged out his syllables with leisure. “You need to relax, set up a dick appointment or something. Or pussy appointment, I don’t know what you’re into.”

Your mouth fell open at this remark, too stunned by his vulgarity to even get angry with your friend, who had dissolved into a fit of giggles beside you; it wasn’t that you were some pearl-clutching grandmother- you had no issue discussing sexual matters with your friends, and in fact some would even say you had a perverted sense of humor. But this? This was different: something about the way those words had fallen from Michael’s mouth made you feel dirty.

At your lack of response, Michael flashed a pearly grin that could only be categorized as evil, and he crossed his arms to mimic your stance. “Oh, sorry. I forgot that you’re probably still a virgin.”

He glanced over to your friend, whose feeble attempts to suppress her second wave of laughter had proven unsuccessful, before averting his gaze back to you. “Aw, don’t feel bad, (y/n). There’s nothing wrong with being a late bloomer.”

Then, as if to punctuate his words, he smirked.

Your mouth pressed into a thin line, you felt something like a storm swirling inside of you, winds thick and unyielding and relentless, and you were almost positive that you’d tear him apart once the feeling aligned with the rest of your body.

It was then that the song blaring through the speakers switched to something inappropriately upbeat, each thump of the dance-friendly bass feeling like punches to the gut.

The storm inside you hadn’t been giving way to anger at all; it was sadness you were feeling in your belly, hopeless and humiliated sadness, though you couldn’t quite understand why: he’d made some stupid, generic joke to try and get a rise out of you- what else was new these days? Maybe it was the fact that your best friend was, by her passiveness and obvious amusement at your expense, encouraging his taunts when she was supposed to be there for you. Or maybe the reality had finally, finally sunken in, that this kind of interaction with Michael would now consume your life for the next year.

Either way, it didn’t make a difference, and as if on cue, the familiar sting of unshed tears arrived patiently at the back of your eyes.

All at once you were were dizzy; Michael’s perfect face was doubling and distorting before your eyes, and your friend’s pitched laughter rang like incessant, robotic television static in your ears.

With very last straw of self preservation you could grasp, you said nothing at all, walking away with the dazed sluggishness of a zombie on autopilot.

You considered yourself lucky; soon enough, you wouldn’t have the luxury of walking away at all.

“She’s too sensitive,” you heard your friend say, faintly, in the background of your thoughts.

You didn’t have the energy to wonder why she wasn’t coming with you, much less the energy to chastise her for being a bad friend, which was what you knew she deserved. If she cared more about getting Michael’s attention than preserving her friendship with you, you supposed there was no use in trying to stop her anymore.

He’s like a disease, you thought as you ambled your way towards the bathroom, surrounded by people but yet still so alone. He’s like a disease, infecting everyone he touches.

It was only a matter of time, you supposed, before he got to you, too.

Who knew? Maybe he already had.

tagging some people from my old iiw tag list!: (i’m sorry if i tagged anyone twice, i’m literally half asleep right now cuz i got like 2 hours of sleep in the past 24 hrs lol) @wroteclassicaly @ritualmichael @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @trelaney  @kissydevil @sloppy-wrist @michael-langdon-appreciation @ccodyfern @sojournmichael @starwlkers @maso-xchrist @space-princesssss @ahslangdon101 @isabellaserpentiawesson @stupidocupido @bademliimagnum @nana15774 @urlocalgothb @hexqueensupreme @gold-dragon-slayer  @langdonsboots @langdonstrash @fckinsupreme @hisgirlwonder @venusxxlangdon @obsessivenostalgicbaby @kleinegamerin @lambofcairo @kiiteiru @littledemondani @beriveri  @grossgayartist @featherpool-852 @discocalico @cryptid-coalition @nu-tt @diamcndscarred @chocolateandhorror @michaelsfrenchtoast  @sarcasticbxtch20 @ringpop-poppy  @imjustasadhoe @melodylangdon  @codycrazy @perfect-ginger-maniac @baphomet-wears-gucci @bigstudentpatrolbonk @jazzcowgirl @a-n-t-s @langdonsblood @ritualmichael @myluciferiscody @fentycoven @gracebtw @bongwaternation  @king-of-mischief-and-bitchez @hoseokchild @witchywcmans @satanicbimbo @lvngdvns​ @langdonskillerqueen​ @aradevil​ @anemia-doll​ @muralskins​ @funtomimagines​ @mrssgtjamesbuckybarnes​ @our-mrlangdon​ @lotsofhunny​ @sevenwonderwitch​ @horrorstreet​ @kpopmademedo-it​ @naughtygranger​ @codyshands​ @krazycags01​ @skullag​

[yourghastlycloseness]

ON RUNNING AND DIETING (?) ok not really, it’s more body and health stuff. A note-to-self

Blogging on my other iphone, that’s why the caps are in order. I’ve lost about one kilogram even though I’ve been eating supper — which happens when I try to skip dinner but end up ravenous and clearing the fridge and breakfast counter of morsels leftovers — and a lot of dessert. Not sure why that is. Maybe it’s what I’m eating. Generally, if I’m doing a late meal, I avoid/don’t have any craving for carbs. I always want meat or sweets.

I’ve also been doing some light running, which actually doesn’t help at all with weight loss (when I was pushing myself to run further and for longer, I gained weight lmao. So now I keep it light), but it makes you full because you end up drinking a lot of water after a run.

I think I’ve also cut down on eating big meals for dinner. OK, not really. I often do fancy meals at night after work as a way of REMINDING MYSELF THAT IF IM A PART OF THIS CAPITALIST SYSTEM I MIGHT AS WELL ENJOY WHAT IT OFFERS jk (p.s. can we talk about the way non soc sci/arts majors or ppl uneducated on the concepts in general misuse the word capitalism and communism because they want to make some smart, witty comments. I usually don’t correct them; that’s just not my thing because I don’t “know it all”. Though I am laughing at them on the inside because I have my condescending af moments. The only time I ever thought to correct was when this girl doing a presentation in architecture on Impressionism referenced Naturalism and talked about it being a movement of painting nature. I waited for the TA to say something, but she never did)

Wow I sidetracked. Point of this post is I love seeing the numbers go down each time I weight myself, but I’m also not a calorie counter. Honestly i couldn’t give a fuck, I’ll eat what I want as long as I don’t overdo it

But some learning points for myself.

How to eat less

- go to work (I really eat less when I’m working at work because I feel stressed and uncomfortable and am constantly in fight mode)

- buy a heavy lunch; eat 2/3 for lunch and 1/3 for dinner and enjoy a full dessert. You can split the dessert for both lunch and dinner too

- drink unsweetened tea with your meals

- practise eating smaller portions of rice. Eventually you get used to it that anything more than a 1/2 or 2/3’s a bowl seems too much

- it’s OK to not eat on time. Because it depends on what time you sleep anyway. Just be sure not to sleep immediately after eating. You will feel like shit

- trust your body. Does it feel warm? Can you feel the sugar in your blood? GET UP AND GO FOR A WALK/RUN

- eat balanced meals. And I don’t just mean greens and lean meats and a small serving of carbs. I mean a savoury-sweet-smoky sort of balance.

- avoid sweetened drinks. Sweet beverages aren’t a lot of fun anyway. Save the sugar for dessert.

- if you have IBS, yes, I know it sucks. But make use of it to help you cut down on food

- AVOID MOST COFFEES AND ALCOHOL YOU GENERALLY DONT LIKE THESE ANYWAY and they MESS UP YOUR GUT FOR THE DAY SO STAHP PLS

//

On running and why i should keep doing it and how I can keep doing it

- HELPS WITH ANXIETY. Heart no longer pounds like crazy when I spot roaches. I can climb the stairs just fine. What a beautiful feeling.

- sucks that they changed the street lamps to fluorescents instead of the dim orange ones, and now I can feel myself looking like a sweaty, beastly and pasty thing doing circuits at midnight. But ok, I’ll find a route that works ie. I can run up and down that short strip where the street lamps still glow orange

- I will always care about how I look when running. And that’s fine. I’ve accepted that. What’s important is to choose what time I want to run. 10.30pm-past midnight works. Running late doesn’t keep me up at night. In fact I sleep better when I run at night.

- running keeps my hair from being oily. My hair gets greasy easily (likely from years of overwashong and ruthlessly stripping it of natural oils — I used to wash twice a day. I still wash it twice a day because I can’t stand the feeling of unwashed hair, but now I keep it to one shampoo wash and one no ‘poo wash in a day)

- correct your running posture. Try not to lean forward so much. Unclench your fists

- WARM UP BEFORE AND AFTER RUNNING

- run 1-2 times a week. Keep the runs short and fun, so you don’t dread them

- keep discovering new music to listen to when you run

//

HOW TO DEAL WITH IBS (?) I’m self-diagnosed lol

- stand up or walk around after food

- consume a light breakfast and drink water in the morning - helps with bowel movement

- bathe first so you don’t waste time wondering if you’re going to have a bowel movement

- a simple zao cao routine helps shout-out to my chinesey high school for introducing this to us

- dont eat a heavy breakfast or lunch when at work; it’ll ruin your productivity and ability to focus for the rest of the day and severely upset your stomach

- bread generally causes you less problems than rice and noodles

- ramen broth is a no no

- raw salmon sashimi is also a no no

- you’re lactose intolerant: avoid milk teas and other milk-based drinks for breakfast and lunch

- VEGGIES AND FRUITS

- try not to eat dry rice

- try not to eat brown/red rice. This gives you constipation

- try to eat cooked veggies as far as possible, bcos uncooked veggies can also cause you constipation

- exercise helps with bowel movements

- Train yourself to have bowel movements only at the start/end of the day

- wake up a bit earlier before work to give your body some time to get used to being alive and awake again lol and also to decide if it has to poop

[mercurytail]

Glide

^u^ Happy Halloween everybody! This is a little mini-Mchanzo fic I wrote up for the holiday! With help, excerpts, musing, and support from my friends: @the-hallowed-lady @captainneedsnosleep @drizzerey @Nobodysangel1980

You can also click the link to read it on Ao3 <3 Leave a comment and let me know what you think!

a slight gore warning since this is a Wendigo fic - its nothing intense, so no worries. Also, Its not a super happy fic, but it has a happy ending! (No he does not eat Hanzo)

Glide (down the throat)

How would it feel? To be so hungry...so in need and yet there is nothing to eat? 

Yet, there is 'food' all around you...but, nothing you CAN eat. 

Like putting a feast in front of a starving man and tying his hands.

How would that feel?

Would you break?

It started off so small. A finger here, an ear there, little things that could staunch the hunger inside him. Things easily explained that could be missing from a body. So small, so easy. He almost didn’t notice when he started devouring hands, organs, hearts, and still the hunger grew. It seemed like every time he ate, his stomach demanded more. The curse demanded more. IT demanded more.

He refused to tell Gabe about the hallucinations. The monstrous creature that stalked him on missions, the lanky, skeletal form that would crouch in the corner of his bunk, antlers scraping the ceiling. There were never any marks in the morning. He could see it even now, grinning away at him, wrapping those long, inhumanly long hands around his stomach, pressing inside and Scratching. Tearing. Demanding more, more, more…

He couldn’t tell when deer and boar and bear and whatever else he could shoot down didn’t cut it anymore. When it finally tasted too rotten, too ashy to swallow down without gagging…The day he realised he’s eaten over half the corpse he’d shot down, he almost threw it all back up again. But the monster wouldn’t let him do that. What a waste of food.

At least the cemetery helped…The monster always demanded more, but at least it didn’t care if it was dead or alive.

Sometimes, late at night when the fire in his tiny shack couldn’t quite chase the cold from his bones, when the monster was pacing through his home on silent hooves, growling and dragging its long hands over the ground. Sunken eyes staring him down from across the fire, and jagged teeth stretched wide in its grotesque face as it listened to how Jesse’s stomach growled and groaned for food, he remembered his mother’s old stories –

“The Wendigo are cursed beings, Jesse, but as long as you never consume a person’s soul – have enough restraint that they may have one piece of them left to carry that spirit over, then a wendigo will be trapped to its human. Never let it consume everything, and you can keep it bound.” 

~ the-hallowed-lady

Jesse McCree, a victim to a 'hunger curse', The 'Wendigo's Curse' . He craves human flesh/blood/bone.

When his hunger takes hold of him he transforms into a Wendigo like creature with horns, mangled teeth, sharp claws, and strange swirling eyes.

In Native American mythology, the Wendigo was a creature that came into being when a human consumed the flesh of their own kind. His grandmother had told him the story and many others. She had seen it. 

In Deadlock, they told him to shoot a young man who had been running drugs for them and was skimming off the top. Jesse refused, ‘it wasn’t right’ he said and tried to get the target out of there - He was caught, locked up, beaten and starved...

...until one day they gave him a huge roasted piece of meat. Told him if he ate it all, he'd be forgiven.

He lunged for it. The grease squelched through his fingers as he took it in his hands tearing into it. The first bite so satisfying, so juicy. Like eating chicken off the bone but amplified by the month of starvation. Its flavor so salty sweet on his tongue, he rolled each bite in his mouth wanting to savor it, the fear it was a trick prominent in his mind. Taking a bite, then another and another, the skin of it crisp and breaking just so under his teeth. The bone came into sight too soon, his stomach still growled...almost as if it hadn’t been fed at all.

...it was only afterwards he found out where it had come from.

The curse set in after that...planting its roots deep. Binding him to the creature he was cursed to become if he gave in.

The nightmares came every night, he dreams of a stag-like creature hunting him down, waiting to consume him just as he consumed human flesh, to take over him, to be free in the mortal world - to eat and eat and eat because it is here now and it is here to stay.

He’s still himself. The curse had not taken him yet. But, it was so tempting in Deadlock. He killed everyday...the bodies were so fresh and supple.

Blackwatch came and they took him. “Raw talent” they said. At least it was a home. He’d say it was his first. Gabe treated him like a son. They helped him curb his appetite, fed it and kept it under control. Genji was his only friend. The only true friend he’d ever had.

Moira grew him flesh from human stem cells.

But, after Blackwatch It got worse. On the run, food was harder to get and "burying the dead...well, that's just a waste of food." He’d told himself.

He began to get desperate. He wanted to stay somewhere familiar but, that brought too many bodies. Too many opportunities to eat and consume. “Can’t eat it all” he reminded himself, chanting it to himself as he gnawed on the assassin’s exposed liver. Trying to keep that last bit of himself human. ‘Leave a finger, that’ll be enough’.

Swallowing, he came to, the taste still thick in his mouth. He screamed throwing the piece of…whatever it was away and falling back scraping against the dirt. The moon was high in the sky and full lighting the body at his feet. Blood was thick on his hands, under his nails...claws and his head ached from the split skin on his forehead, the horns having receded. He didn’t remember...he didn’t remember coming out here or chasing after this…’food’. He curls in on himself, shivering in the cold night air...crying. 

But the Hunger became too much and he ran. He ran north.

He moves into a estranged deep forest...lives in a cabin alone. Near a small village, and a cemetery.

He sustains himself off of deer and wild game he kills. Whether with his gun or his claws when the hunger and hallucinations cloud his judgement.

The urge to consume human flesh is always there, and sometimes he gets so ravenous for it he digs up fresh corpses or steals body parts from the morgue.

Hanzo comes into his life after a short while.

He is simply running away as well...someone who murdered their own brother. It's why he likes the church yard so much. He lives there for the peace, and because when you are surrounded by the dead, it's easier not to feel judged for your actions.

They fit too well, every bit of banter, late night talk over coffee at the diner, the hunts. It was all too natural. Hanzo was getting too close and McCree craved him. He craved for his words, his touch, his time...and the beast craved him too.

And Hanzo was too curious for his own good. They strike up a small friendship and the closer they got. The harder McCree tried to push him away.

McCree tried to get Hanzo to leave.

“Hanzo, I just need you to understand it ain’t safe out here for you. They’ll find you too easy. I should know! You got to leave and keep moving.” McCree slumps against the wall, hands in his pockets; hiding. They’d had this talk before.

“I am fully aware of my surroundings and my clan will never find me here. You as a fellow criminal would know. You are hiding here, are you not? Why shouldn’t I? Especially, since we go so well together. We could fight them together...live here together.” the last bit of his sentence is but a mumble not quite making it to McCree’s ear.

McCree finds one night he’s too short on meat - much too short and winter is setting in. He goes out into the light snow for a final hunt, hoping for a bear or moose.

Hanzo finds him out there, cold and unlucky. Hanzo has been around way too much. It puts him on edge.

When a surprise snow storm hits McCree is forced to stay the night in Hanzo's home.

His hunger starts to gnaw at him, scratching, clawing at his insides; out of control. Even though Hanzo had just share his hardy venison stew...three servings of it.

The grotesque beast looms over Hanzo; caging him as he sits in front of the fire, reading. It salivates and begins to whisper in his ear. ‘Just one bite. The taste will be worth it. It will feel so good, so delicious gliding down.’

McCree licks his lips, fighting back the drool building in his mouth. He leans forward in the leather chair rubbing and worrying his hands; one over the other. Staring at the oblivious man across from him.

‘It would be so easy...just a bite. It wouldn’t hurt. It wouldn’t even kill him.’ the skull of the creature caress Hanzo’s shoulder. Its black abyssal eyes like fire on his soul.

McCree cringes, cradling his head and crushing his eyes closed, “SHUT UP!” His heart feels like its leaping from his chest. His breathing is ragged, drool slipping from his mouth as he cries. He tastes the salt.

It's quiet, he feels warm, happy, ‘just chew...it’ll be alright...just eat.’ Freedom is at his fingertips he thinks. Then...

Before he realizes, McCree has changed. His small horns, claws, and teeth have peeled free of his skin and his eyes are a wild black and silver. Hanzo steps back in horror.

Half manic, McCree stalks the room, trying to run or hide. But as time passes He finally pins Hanzo when the hunger clouds his mind.

And Hanzo just gives in. Accepts his fate. ‘It’s what he deserves.’

This Snaps McCree out of his haze. He pulls himself back, eyes becoming clear and he shrinks into the corner of the room just whimpering in an inhuman voice, "food"...”so hungry.”

So, Hanzo goes outside. He takes the remains of an Elk carcass from the snow and brings it in for him. Laying it at his feet. It's a sickening sight, as the horned man leans in drooling and finally shredding into the decaying remains, moaning...

McCree changes back soon, wiping his mouth of the gore and Hanzo faints, the shock too much for his body.

When he wakes, McCree explains everything and after a shared silence Hanzo nods and agrees to help him. To McCree’s great disbelief. However, He accepts the offer...just tired of being alone.

Hanzo knows a thing or two about curses after all, from his family and his past.

They travel in search of a shaman to remove the curse. McCree had never thought of it. Of asking for help of breaking the hold on him.

It takes almost a year but they find the shaman. Hidden away deep in the tropics of mexico. However, they find that it would kill McCree to revoke the curse or change him entirely.

So, with a heavy heart and tears streaming down his cheeks McCree accepts his life. They decide to just live with it and Hanzo says as he holds his lovers face in his hands, he will stay by his side.

The flaming wood cracks as it settles in the fireplace. The orange glow lighting the room. Snow drifts down softly outside the window. Each gust of wind causes the cabin to creak, the room quiet and yet not silent; the sounds of home.

The two men lay together on the sofa, swaddled close in warm wool blankets. Hanzo nuzzles into his neck humming a song neither know the words to.

“Are you hungry my love?” Hanzo asks.

Jesse swallows taking in the flames as they dance. He kisses the top of Hanzo’s head, “No, You keep me full Darlin’.”

[beacerious]

You May Not Get Down From the Table Until You Have Cleaned Your Plate!  One Account of An Adult with SED

LIFE, TAKE I........... If there was any way to foresee that I would meet someone in a developing nation, marry, and end up in Wisconsin, I may have packed my bags sooner!

I grew up as a “selective eater,” which is now known as “Selective Eating Disorder” in the medical world. I am a healthcare professional myself, and while you may think “why didn’t she know she had a problem?” It is not that easy. I will reach my 50th birthday in 31 days. This is roughly only four short months since I came to the realization that I eat differently than the rest of the world. You see, I found this out just by going to the doctor. Maybe I should have stayed home!

I had put on weight over the course of a few years since I stopped running in races and training, and then began surgically-induced menopause. I asked my doctor if there was something to help me curb my appetite. I told him I was literally “starving” all of the time. I would eat and then want to eat again! I would wake up at 3 am, crave the company of a grilled cheese sandwich, and find that if ol’ GCS and I did not make mad passionate love, I could not fall asleep! So a different type of love affair began! I saw the weight increasing, but felt happy and healthy. Then I decided that my husband deserved the woman that he married, and had “the dreaded and hopefully not weird” chat with my doctor. He prescribed a medication that was supposed to help me with my appetite. I tried it for about six months and did not see any difference in my weight. I exercise at least five times a week and my calorie intake (to me) did not seem excessive. I stopped the pills after consulting my doctor, and went back to my usual “starving” routine, though I was definitely not starving, I just felt like it all of the time!

I began traveling for my job, in warmer climates, and all over the U.S. a few years back. I came home for a break and went in to see my doctor because I was so tired but still just “starving” all of the time. My love affair with grilled cheese had begun again; we met in secret at 3 am. I was surprised my hubby had not been jealous! Imagine me cheating on him with an ooey gooey grilled cheese sammy! So, my doctor checked my labs to make sure that I was not diabetic or that nothing else was going on and then he asked if I wanted to try the pills again, and I thought to myself “why not?” They had helped my appetite the last time around, but did not assist with any weight loss, and why should they, they were an appetite suppressant and not a weight loss drug. I thought that traveling would put more weight on me, and I needed help controlling my appetite with all of the stress. I worked hours that were impossible to most people who call them selves humans, as well as I was close to finishing my PhD and definitely burning the candle at both ends. I did not spend a lot of hours sleeping and had been consuming alot of caffeine. I noticed alot of bruising, an increase in hair loss, and I felt exhausted all of the time. I was not really paying attention to my meal choices, if you could even call it that. I always had my favorite restaurant stops after work on the way to the hotel, even when it was late. Or the gas station carried some superior noshes.... chips and cheese dip. Normally when I was at home with my husband and not traveling for my job, we had nightly rituals of cheese and crackers, and even a glass of wine with this a couple of nights a week. We also cooked full meals together. All in all I ate as much traveling as I did at home, but the difference was that I was eating more often at home. I was also unable to make love to grilled cheese in a hotel because I did not have a way to cook it! As I look back now, I can see that I slipped back into comfortable habits of eating only “my food.” I did not have to be involved with anyone else’s food tastes while I was out traveling for work. I lost a whopping 30 pounds and felt terrific again. My appetite was under control and all of my clothes fit me again!

But....where weight loss and work was found during my travels, there was also warm weather. Warm weather, I know now is important for me health-wise and has everything to with my current struggles. 

As I mentioned, I had been working again in warm climates while traveling and it was spring when I came off of this last job and home to Wisconsin. I had planned on taking some time off to work on my dissertation and get closer to graduating. Warm weather comes to an end early in the upper Midwest. Warm weather, which I have enjoyed since I was about 20 due to all of the warm weather places I had been sent to, for work, was about to come to an end. This is important and relevant because I was diagnosed with a mild case of Raynauds just a couple of years back when the area that I had been working in had an uncommon cold front with snow come through the area. While it did not last long, the pain, numbness, and discoloration of my fingers gave me quite a fright. When I was told what it was, like any good medical person, I went and looked up everything that was evidence-based and solid, that I could find on it. I found out that cold weather was not good for me. We had, however, moved back to the Midwest and I was once again faced with this cold weather problem. Weather, however, or even temperatures that are cool are an issue; the grocery store and I are not friends!

As Wisconsin’s weather began to cool down, I found the Raynauds really worsening. I had been experiencing increasing frequency and length of time in with which Raynauds was occurring, for instance, I had noticed that just going into the freezer aisle or cold area of a grocery story, air conditioning, even picking up ice cubes and putting them in a glass at the hotels, had produced this affliction rapidly. I finally questioned the appetite suppressant that I was on and did some research of my own. I figured this out at least! There was literature out there relating problems with people with Raynauds who also took this appetite suppressant: it not only brought the disease on, but made it worse for those already with it. I was a little taken aback and wondered why my doctor, with whom I had complained about the Raynauds for so long now (since the start of the appetite suppressants) had failed me in not connecting the complaints and the drug and getting me off of the drug. 

One wintry day around the holidays I walked into a scheduled doctors’ appointment, ready to provide information on my findings as well as let him know that I had taken myself off of the drug. Although my weight was up a couple of pounds, the Raynauds symptoms had lessened so much that I no longer had to wear gloves into the grocery store (I still cannot pick up frozen food and hang onto, but at least just walking down the freezer section does not put my fingers into a spasm and produce completely numb, white digits!). Yes my ravenous appetite returned, however that was, in my opinion at this time, a small price to pay for not scaring the beejeebies about of my husband when my fingers turned black, or me, when they turned white and I could not feel them! My doctor appeared annoyed that I had taken myself off of the medication, as well as had produced information and given it to him about the adverse reactions with this drug and Raynaud’s patients. He then asked me out of the blue about if I was continuing to eat “small meals” and “fruits and vegetables” (I have never said yes to this when he asks!) I said I usually take in my big meal of the day about 2-3 pm. That set him off. He then wanted to know about what I ate before that time and asked again if  was eating small meals throughout the day.

Ok, lets back up for a second here. In the first place, before any patient is given an appetite suppressant, it would be appropriate to do a nutrition assessment. I had not realized until this appointment that he failed to even do that initially. Life was so busy I forgot to advocate for my own self! A nutrition assessment allows one to find out how the person eats, when they eat, what they like, dislike, their meal schedules etc...even have them keep a food journal. I had already had bruising issues, which led to the finding of a serious B12 deficit. One other doctor colleague of my doctor saw me when he was not available and without my even saying anything, after he read my chart, he had enough sense to ask me the right question which was if I was vegetarian. When I replied no, he then asked if I ate meat. Bingo...no, I said, I did not! I babbled something about my grandfather, gross, and texture. I started B12 shots and then B12 oral and it was mentioned that I had some deficit in my stomach. I did look up B12 to learn about the stomach issue and I was not so sure that this was the problem though I did remember being taken to the doctor as a child for frequent shots. Since I am adopted, and my family is unknown or no longer living, I am not able to solve that puzzle. So back to the appointment where my doctor is asking me about small meals etc...Did I mention that I don’t like to eat when I wake up? Well I mentioned it to him and he was obviously what I will term “angry” because it was beyond just “annoyed.” 

I went home and stewed over the appointment, vowing to never go back in again to this doctor. I began to write him a letter telling him how hurt I am because of his behavior and as I wrote this letter out, although I knew that he had never done a proper nutrition intake assessment on me or referred me to a dietician, and did not even make a weight goal with me, I suddenly realized that he really doesn’t know me nor had taken the time to get to know me and my eating habits before he asked about small meals etc... Had he done that he would have found out that I don’t eat the same as most. I bet he has never had another patient like me and if he did, he probably wouldn’t know it! Weight loss is not just medical it is also psychological and it is all a serious process. I don’t diet and had never had to. I do eat when I am emotional, but I am generally a happy “baby” plus I work out so any crazy eating when I have emotional breakdowns fortunately has been few and far between. If I had eating issues it would have been evident due to growing up around my family who always commented about me being fat or not getting fat, but never about eating issues. 

Currently. it was after the first go-round of holidays when we were invited to a dear friend of mine’s home for dinner. I had never been to dinner there and I did not tell her that there were many things I won’t eat. I stopped explaining that years ago to people and just pick from whatever food is available. If anyone comments I usually say something about that I am not that hungry. So, at my friends home for dinner I followed her to her kitchen and found a piece of raw beef tenderloin...complete in its bloody juices....sitting on the counter ready to go into the oven. She was really proud of it. I chose to tell her what I usually tell people “I don’t eat meat.” I apologized to her for not mentioning and said that I did not want her to prepare a meal that was tailored to me and I would make do with whatever else was on the table. At the dinner table her husband asked me why I was not eating. Well, the salad had onions in it, which I had been allergic to my whole life and though I had received shots over 9 years, sometimes I still had a hard time eating something with these in it out of fear of becoming ill; it had happened too often with multiple ER trips in the past. My friend had made a pasta salad which I kindly and gratefully ate with alot of “thank  you’s” to her for this. Her husband gave me alot of funny looks and I finally said I just did not eat meat. I was so embarrassed by this dinner and was sure that they would not have me over again. This would not be the first time that something like this has happened, but it was the most recent and embarrassing. It was coming off of the tail end of a doctor appointment that ended badly and related to my eating habits as well. 

After this dinner, I had a couple of weeks downtime from working on my research study and decided to spend this time looking up “fun” things for once. What this led me to, however, was googling problems related to weight and eating. What came up on one hit was eating disorders. Well, I skipped over that, I would never starve myself nor puke up anything I ate (how horrible on people’s teeth!). I was sure I did not have any of those issues. I did run across a dietetic article that talked about keeping a food diary. I had been thinking about my diet and had spent a whole week writing down what I ate. Here are just a few things that were the basis of my entire week: plain spaghetti noodles, butter and Parmesan cheese, water (I stopped soda and coffee a year ago), wine, spaghetti o’s, PBJ for lunch each day on pepperidge farm thin bread, Cheetos, mac and cheese, pizza rolls. While I had not thought that any of this was unusual because I was used to eating all of this, I showed it to my husband who was a little sassy and said “yea, you eat like a toddler, and?” It was nothing he said he wasn’t used to. So then I asked him what was wrong with the way I ate. He knew I did not eat or rarely touched vegetables, salad, meat, or fruit. I always made sure to cook meat (and potatoes)...kind of a Midwestern thing, for him, and though I always sat down to eat with him, my choice was usually only the potatoes and never the salad, meat, or vegetables that went with this. I did eat bread (I am not scared of bread or carbs!). We actually eat out quite a bit, which allows me to eat without too much speculation. My favorite is pasta and shrimp. Usually the shrimp is shrimp cocktail or fried shrimp. My husband still teases me when I look at a menu and says “really?” “duh....shrimp.” And he is usually right. 

So as I was remembering his comments and researching “fun” things for once, I ventured into a psychology section where “Selective Eating Disorder” was the topic of choice. I began reading. I could not stop reading. These stories were just like ME! This was not a happy moment for me. I didn’t want to have a problem! I am a woman in menopause (be afraid!) and it was not ok to add another major problem to my life right now! I could hear Erma Bombeck in my head talking about this and making it sound much more funny than I ever could, but it was just not funny. I actually began to cry. I read about this “neophobia” as it was once called (OMG, what a horrible label! What were they thinking?!!). I couldn’t stop reading though there is not a lot to read about this, which is why I am going to create more literature about this. I think there are alot more of us out there who think we are normal eaters and really don’t know that the way we eat is truly a problem. I am still not convinced its a “disorder.” Do we really have a problem?

LIFE..... TAKE TWO.....GROWING UP....

My first inquiry after my intimate epiphany began with questioning my father (adopted). “What was I like as a child when it came to eating?” He rolled his eyes and said “eating? all you would eat were hot dogs! nothing else!” I said they were one of my favorite foods until i caught a special on TV a couple of years ago when I was traveling about how they made them. I had a raw hot dog for dinner that night before the show aired, after which, I became nauseated and threw up for the first time in years without being sick with a flu. He said he was not surprised that I would not eat them after a show like that. I said yea, he was right (as usual) and then reminded him of when his dad (my grandpa) took me and my cousins to the drive-in one summer. My grandfather loved scary movies and anything with a little “skin” in them. One particular movie was about a Hawaiian luau in which they showed a woman in a shower who was slashed by a knife and cut up into lots of little bloody pieces, and then served as raw meat at the luau. I never wanted nor tried to eat any kind of meat after that! He said he had not known about that. I began talking about other things related to my eating when growing up, such as the time that I was served tuna fish casserole. I still remember the smell of it. It was also served with broccoli. I drank a full glass of milk before sitting up to the table for dinner, and when I was told to eat it all or I could not get down from the table, the smell of the broccoli and tuna fish made me gag and I threw my milk up all over the table and my plate. I guess that was one way of getting out of dinner, but it truly was gross (to me). The smell was what made me hurl. There was another vivid smell-related hurling incident very much worth mentioning right now since we are talking about smells. 

So, I had been in nursery school. I did not like eating at nursery school and for two reasons: cooked canned spinach and sauerkraut. Both of these are traumatizing to this day and simply the smell will send my stomach heaving. Our nursery school teacher Used to force us to remain at the table until we ate. Of course I never ate and of course this led to a problem or two as you can imagine. I remember spoons of the yuck forced at me. I remember crying and screaming, and really messing up my dress and the whole table. Anyone near me probably got a second helping. When I was picked up, I remember “behind-the-door” talks without me, and after that I was never forced to eat that stuff again. My father, of course would not remember that incident; he was not the one to pick me up from nursery school or take me. Several different people were and I am not sure who it was. 

My father remembered some of these stories, but not all. His sister used to tell him of my “chipmunk” days where I would take a nap with my mouth full of whatever food had been spooned into my mouth only to find me upon waking, with it in a pile on my blanket. She said I slept with the food in my mouth and she thought at first that I may be saving it for later, but time after time proved that this was not the case. I relayed a few stories about the times when he made me sit at the table until I fully ate my meal. I never did finish and a couple of times the meal went into the fridge and came back out to me again the next night. I think he might have felt bad about doing that. I know my grandmother never failed to mention it when she needed to talk bad about my father. She would always talk about that he should have never done that to me and then would say maybe I would eat better if he had not. I never knew what she meant by all of that until recently. I actually don’t even care to eat at a table now; I prefer a bar or counter, or even the couch in the living room. I get sort of restless and don’t find myself sitting long at any table in anyone’s home including my own. Restaurants are different; I can sit at a table in a restaurant. The one thing that carried over that I wish I could take back was of that when I babysat: I was insistent that kids stayed at the table until they cleaned their plates. I was all of 11, 12, and 13 when I began babysitting and still a child myself and was doing exactly what had been done to me. 

In hindsight, I do remember only eating hot dogs growing up. I made friends with a girl when I was in the second grade who was my best friend. When I went to her house to eat, her mother always fixed alot of food and none of which I would eat other than hot dogs. She remarked once about how I had to eat to grow but then would be sweet and say that I was just a “picky eater.” She always had a hot dog for me. My best friend and I had already had an experience with somewhat of a picky eater I guess you could say, only more extreme I think, that ended sadly. This involved a girl two grades our junior that we named “Candy” because she would not eat anything else but candy. We found out she died from “eating candy” is what we were told. I remember how we both cried. Instead of shying away from candy though, my best friend and I began buying dime store candy and eating alot of it in memory of candy. I stuck to my usual, small red things that cost one penny and had a “1 cent” stamped in them, a certain kind of sucker, “ice cubes,” and sugar loaf bubblegum. From then on I was always chewing bubblegum and my dental appointments became somewhat nightmarish for both me and my dad’s wallet. Poor Candy. 

I feel that I did begin “exploring different food” around the 4th grade. Our class had made these wreaths for Christmas out of cornflakes, marshmallows, and added red hots and green food coloring. Those were delicious (but not nutritious of course!). At my grandma’s, around this same time,  she was inclined to try me on a snack of saltines with a little butter spread on them. I liked these and usually asked for seconds. She also made home made egg noodles and I loved eating the dough raw, but never cooked. She also fed me tomato soup with saltines once, and purple plums, cut up without any of the core or skin, and these were added to my food list.  In the 7th grade I found pepperidge farm thin bread at the house I babysat for, and cheese slices. These made great sandwiches. I also discovered shrimp cocktail and butter noodles, both of which were the only things I would eat when we went out for supper. I did not like breakfast, but my grandmother got me to eat oatmeal with butter, sugar and a little milk. I was also taken out to restaurants all of the time with my grandparents and if it wasn’t shrimp cocktail, hot dogs, or butter noodles, I would not eat. My grandfather did finally talk me into Mr. Donut Donuts (chocolate cream filled white powdered donuts), and therefore this was my weekend saturday or sunday treat with my grandpa. My own father made it a habit to cook steak on the grill and other things in the kitchen, hoping I would try these, but I never did. I do remember franco american spaghetti in a can, and loved, however, as well as later on in high school I graduated to spaghetti O’s and canned ravioli’s. I began track in the 6th grade and by the 7th grade, the kids were all taking jars of baby food to the track meets. They constantly offered these baby food things to me, and I usually turned down. They thought it was a “cool” way to get alot of sugar in before a race, plus they said it must be healthy because most of it was fruit (pears, apricots, peaches, and plum cherry pudding). I finally tried a little of each (peer pressure I think) and found that I liked them all. I began asking my dad to buy these for me at the store and he did gratefully. 

In high school McDonalds came to our town and at first I would not eat anything, and then with peer pressure abound once again, found that I loved chicken McNuggetts and french fries. My dad commented that I was getting “fat” and even made a couple of comments calling me “chunky.” My grandmother was always on me to not get “fat” and continuously wanted to know what size I was. I am quite surprised that I did not turn out with a worse eating  “disorder” than I have! Pizza and pizza bread in high school (with cheese only)became favorites. My best friend and I used to love Totino’s pizza (with pepperoni), of which I still sneak into the oven today when no one is around because it is so small and LOADED with sodium...and just bad for you altogether, but is a comfort food unfortunately. And when my best friend got a microwave, we were mesmerized and spent several hours making burnt bacon and eating it!

Throughout high school, my whole diet, which,by my husband’s goddaughter, the RD’s standards, was not exactly a healthy way to eat. Of interest maybe, was that I learned to love an Arby’s super (sandwich). My dad took us to Arby’s for a meal once; this was the beginning of my love for Arby’s. I was in high school. I was told that I should try something to eat as I may not see food for a while. I had an out of town basketball game to cheer at and knew it would be a long night. I did not order anything but a Jamocha shake. My dad said nothing as usual and just got the Super sandwich for himself. As he opened the sandwich up, he asked me if I wanted to try it at least after he put this red sauce on it (Arby’s sauce). I tried the red sauce.....yum! I liked it. But that was not out of the norm because I liked a couple of condiments already that were red, which I slathered my hot dogs in: ketchup and A1 Steak Sauce. I remember thinking that there was alot of that red sauce on it so if I took a bite it might be ok. I was also not getting or equating this sandwich to the typical meat that I normally saw saw and no one mentioned the word meat (like my dad or the restaurant staff) so that must be how I said ok to trying this sandwich. I absolutely loved it. the sandwich also had lettuce and tomato, and yes, meat (that I was not exactly aware of). I had not had lettuce or tomatoes before this either. 

That was the first meat that I ever ate, when out at a restaurant, as well as the first lettuce and tomatoes that were put on the sandwich that I had ever tried; to this day I still order Arby’s super’s though they are not located on any Arby’s menu anymore but (most) they know how to make them!. There have been a few blank stares at an Arby’s counter, or long periods of silence on the drive-thru speaker when the staff are not familiar with the sandwich. Not once have they made it incorrectly in the end though, and for that I have been grateful. Once someone asked me what was on it, but fortunately another employee chimed in that this was an old Arby’s sandwich, just no longer on the menu (and then they went on to explain to the other Arby’s worker how to make it). Honestly, the sandwich is not hard and WHY they took this off of the menu, I have no idea. Although I am getting ahead of myself with this writing chronologically, it is still a good time to mention other restaurants that took “staples” of mine off of their menu; I vowed never to eat there again (other than arby’s): Outback steak house- removed the Queensland Chicken and Shrimp; Olive Garden - removed Kendall Jackson Chardonnay; Quizno’s- removed my favorite sandwich of all, the Rosemary turkey, and then add in the Arby’s super (which they fortunately sill make, unlike the other restaurants who won’t even keep these long lost favorites of mine on any secret menu!). 

Not to digress, so onward with another food item that I learned to love in high school, which was peanut butter. It had to be Jif though. I could put peanut butter on crackers, and on bread! I also just dipped a spoon in the jar and would eat it right out of the jar. Knowing what I know now about protein, at least I found peanut butter. That  (and shrimp) must be how I survived the growing years. I am certain I was malnourished, but how, I am not sure. I think, even though, children may be picky, their bodies find a way to ensure that they have a taste for what they need somehow (if it is available.....of course if they are somewhere that food is scarce, this is going to be a problem and malnutrition is imminent). One other thing I forgot about was finding Chinese food. When I learned to drive I wanted to get a fortune cookie and wound up trying wantons and tried shrimp fried rice. These also became favorites. So, still not alot on the menu for me I guess by high school, but as far as I was concerned I ate fine. I did not care for breakfast and just liked what I liked. Everyone I hung out with, well, their parents were just used to having me over and knew I was a “very picky eater.” 

College came for me. As luck would have it, I was very much underweight at the start of college which was great for cheer leading (probably not a surprise), however I entered into sorority life and found beer, champagne, Dominoes cheese pizza, taco bell nachos, and nachos from Country fair, and then on came the freshman 15! I loved living in this sorority house when it came to food though because there was always a large jar of peanut butter in the cubby as well as tomato soup was usually in the crock pot and set out for lunch most days. My first few days in the dorms and going to the cafeteria were unbearable and I did not eat anything. I could have starved to death I think! In the sorority house we also had our own fridges in our study rooms and i was able to stock these with what I liked to eat, which was not alot, but at least a protein was included (cold hot dogs). Again, I may be jumping ahead but will mention that currently, yes, I know about Listeria if you are wondering. My current profession is all about infectious diseases therefore I am surprised that I did not complain about diarrhea more often. I do remember alot of bouts of diarrhea as well as periods of constipation (no one talked about drinking alot of water back then). Fortunately the bouts were self-limiting and usually my dogs were cooked. 

College was a time though of being busy with alot of social activities (too many!) as well as studying. It was a grab and go world, and I was a grab and go girl! I knew I was overweight, but actually I was probably not hugely overweight, but right about where I should be, only with a lot of cellulite from the high fat diet. I ran everyday to “combat” or counteract the weight gain. That actually did not work very well and I wound up with my immune system bottomed out and a case of mono. I slept alot with the mono, but no one told me that I had to lay low due to that the spleen could cause problems. I was still trying to run alot but ended up on crutches after stepping in a hole while running, and broke my ankle That really slowed me down. 

After college, mono, and my running injury I dropped the weight that I had gained as a freshman (yes the dreaded “15″.. and then some). I think it all came off easily without taco bell, dominoes and beer every night! I ended up as a nanny after college, on the eat coast. Kids were perfect; we liked the same foods and ate the same way. I could relate.I went through life from that point on and ate the way I ate. I added a couple of things like frozen pizza rolls (yes, frozen!) and wine to my food list, but not alot else, that was until I landed in a job that took me overseas. The ironic part of this is that I landed on an island in the middle of nowhere, where they still had a KFC, taco bell, and dominoes pizza! 

I wound up working overseas for quite a few years and while I was not in the least bit up for eating any type of raw fish, sushi, sashimi, etc, in the beginning of my overseas adventure, I met a wonderful man that I fell in love with, and who began slowly getting me used to trying different foods. Are you sitting down? I went from seared, blackened ahi (totally), to the raw stuff(slight sear/blackened), to totally raw sashimi in no time! Of course it had to be soaked in soy sauce and wasabi, but hey, my food list grew! I did learn a thing or two about how to spot good and bad sashimi. I have not found good sashimi yet in the U.S. since we have moved back by the way. Very disappointment. But that is reality. I certainly do not have access to the ocean and fresh fish anymore. 

 I also discovered fish overseas! I LOVE fish. How do you like that?! I hated fish growing up and one particular fish fry I remember led to me being chased by rats on the beach! I recalled this memory when I grew up and my grandmother was still alive. She had confirmed this. I told her all I remember was the smell of fish and rats as big as dogs chasing me. She said I was all of about one year’s of age and yes rats chased me, and she supposed that for a very small child these likely appeared larger than they really were. But hey, at least I know why I never ate fish. 

So, there’s a “catch” (pun intended!) if I eat fish now, it cannot taste like fish, which was the smell that I remember. “Fishy” odor (and taste...even the slightest!) I find offensive and will make me throw up immediately. My gag reflex is on full alert when it comes to fish and I have no power over it. My food journey was just beginning, however. I found so many things that made my palate happy while living overseas, granted don’t get too optimistic, I still stuck to only a few things that I “normally” ate and was also a very bland eater. For example, at a Mexican restaurant, I love the food, but only the cheese enchilada (no onions on anything) with the red sauce, chips, and non-chunky salsa or no salsa at all. I love Thai food now too, but only the shrimp pad thai, no eggs and no onions, and also the Thom ka gai soup but without onions or mushrooms. I like Filipino food (lumpia), vietnamese fresh spring rolls, chamorro red rice, jamaican jerk chicken, black and also red beans and rice, indian food dishes (curry and mostly vegetarian dishes without chicken), and although I swore them off, I love the outback steak house cheese fries and salad, as well as fettucine alfredo from anwhere! I am also super hot for rota-sushi! I wish we had this in Wisconsin but I do not think that we do. Japanese teppanyaki can be fun, but I am super picky with this one....only the rice and shrimp. I did try a bit of well done “dead” steak, as I call any meat when they ask how it should be cooked, if I  have to eat a piece of meat, but I did not care for the teppanyaki-cooked steak really. The flavor was not the problem, the flavor was great, it was the texture. It tasted like I was biting through “tendons” or string of some sort. My gag reflex fired back instantly and I spit what I had in my mouth out before I was provoked to hurl! 

As I look back now and “analyze” myself, if you will, I can see how events in my life as well as food texture and smells have affected what I eat. I actually have a high sodium, cholesterol, and carb diet, which is not optimal. Yes, as a medical professional I am very aware of diet and nutrition; I just never paid attention to my own nutrition or lack thereof. 

LIFE ...... TAKE THREE........ EATING MY WAY THROUGH WISCONSIN

Now that I have had my most unpleasant epiphany and taken a journey back through my life and eating habits, I have decided to try and see if I cannot undo an entire lifetime of habits. This may not even be possible. But whomever follows me on this journey now will experience what it is like to be trying various food for the first time.......and yes, all at the age of 50! I am going to attempt to incorporate new foods by cooking at home and by eating out. I am going to choose some fantastic restaurants in my area, or wherever I may be and write about them. I am going to introduce my “inner child” to new foods. I am not so sure that this will be without difficulties. I have no idea how to train a gag reflex, taste buds, etc.... As a scholar, it will be my goal to incorporate evidence-base research and other writings into what I publish here. I already know that this topic does not have much published about it. Duke University is also undergoing a study on SED. It is too bad that I did not know about that in order to be a part of that research. 

I will be starting my journey “Eating My Way Through Wisconsin” next week some time. Stay tuned!