...was materialistic so that I could buy things and feel happy. I wish an iPad, new clothes, or jewelry mattered to me so that such a simple thing as spending money to acquire bits of junk was meaningful.
...was vain, so that my improved appearance was more meaningful to me. I wish I cared about the shape of my breasts, behind, and waist or how my face looks.
...was nosier, so that I cared about what celebrities did with their lives and could preoccupy myself with the minutiae of their lives.
...had more creative energy, so that working on creative endeavors didn't wear me out and I could cram every waking moment making things of value instead of feeling exhausted and left with a wandering mind.
...was not so easily over-stimulated so that I could fill my time with experiences that didn't overwhelm my nervous system and blow out my emotional fuses.
...was less self-aware, so I didn't understand the depths and causes of the emptiness I sometimes feel.Today, I told my husband that I was tired of never having "enough". I blamed him for this, and said that he was what I wasn't getting "enough" of. The truth is that what I'm not getting enough of is meaning. Now that I can't fill myself up with food, I feel so incredibly empty sometimes that I want to scream. I feel like nothing is exciting anymore, and I wonder if this is depression at having lost something which was a destructive, yet simple, pleasure.
By divorcing myself from the joy I took in food, I gained a better relationship with it, but I am left with nothing to take its place.
