Fang...

When I was growing up one of my many nicknames was Fang. I can't remember now who bestowed it upon me, but I do recall the reasoning behind their decision.

My Parents can attest to the fact that I was a bottom-less pit when it came time for eating; they used to joke that I must have been born with hollow legs because there was no way that my stomach could have held as much as it did- not normally. And then- when I was seven-I caught a Tape-worm. Well, I did in my mind anyway. It would have explained a lot of things...

That's why I was always hungry; that's why I could eat as much dinner as my Father could by the time that I Was ten- even if I'd already pigged out during the afternoon. I remember I used to like to make Dad up a massive plate of salami, cheese, pickled onions and Salada stacks for us to eat while we watched the football together on rainy Saturday afternoons every now and then. I didn't like the Spanish olives though; those I saved for Dad.

I'm one of those lucky people who can eat whatever they want, and I don't put on any weight. Oh; and I have never gone out of my way to exercise and maintain the weight that I am nowadays- which generally hovers around the ten-stone mark on the bathroom scales- just in case you are wondering. This has made some people insanely jealous- especially because I love greasy take-away meals and I can eat junk food all day if I wish. I have meat pies and apple turnovers for breakfast.

I'm also a big fan of biscuits like Savoury Shapes- I can eat a whole box in one sitting; preferably with a tub of Gherkin dip to go along with it. Then I will go looking for more. Maybe I'll have some chocolate chip cookies next- or a cream filled Lamington with a strawberry milkshake. It doesn't really matter what's on the menu. I like everything- I won't be sick. I don't tend to vomit after my little bingeing sessions; only very occasionally do I even feel sick. I don't want to throw up a four dollar piece of cake that I really enjoyed. What a waste that would be.

I'm never worried about the calories or the fat I'm consuming. It rarely crosses my mind that my cholesterol levels must be ridiculous. So I don't think I am Bulimic. I don't look at Myself in the mirror when I'm naked and worry that I'm overweight- even though my bones are visible. I know that I am too skinny. So I don't think that I am Anorexic- besides I eat far too much for that...

But I still think that I have an eating disorder of some sort all the same. It can't just be me confusing the issue with merely being stoned and having the Munchies all the time- though of course I have considered that as well. The problem comes because I never smoked Marijuana back when I was six or seven, and so I didn't have the munchies all those times that I would sit on the top bunk in my bedroom and devour whole boxes of Dixie Drumsticks and full blocks of Cadbury Snack in one go.

I suppose I use food to show how I am feeling. What I eat, and how much, is just another reflection of the mood that I'm experiencing. And then there's the reverse.

If I am pissed off or upset I will refuse to eat anything, sometimes for days at a time- until I am so hungry I feel physically weak. And then I'll gorge Myself on something fatty or sweet. It's my reward for denying Myself food. I don't feel like I even deserve food sometimes. I didn't pay for any of it- I don't earn any money- I know I'm just a Free Loader so I always give Myself the smallest protions. My Mother would probably say I have a terrible case of Burnt Chop Syndrome; which is what you call giving yourself the burned sausage or split fried egg to eat rather than give it to someone else- even though you were the one who cooked the meal and so should, by rights, get the pick of the best-cooked food. (Apparently only women suffer from this condition.) It's like how the Cook always gets to be the one to eat the little lamb shank when you make a roast. It's just the Rule.

Also; if I know I'm going to the pub for a big night I often won't eat during the day- so the effects of the alcohol aren't diminished in any way. I love to eat savoury food; like sausage rolls and cheese Twisties, or cold left overs straight out of the fridge. I love buying the cakes from my local patisserie- I might eat a full slice of their Hazelnut Savoy and then have a huge glass of ice-cream- with exactly six scoops; every time- heaped high with Milo or fruit salad on top. Then I might have a king-size Picnic Bar or a Freddo Frog next- depending on how greedy I'm feeling at the time.

This is only a recent develpoment- if the truth be told. I've only just discovered the true joys of bingeing in the last two or three years. The Psycologist Guy told me not to worry about eating a 'little bit of dessert' every night, so I guess I didn't impress him enough for him to give me a Label. Even when he caught me in the act at the Service Station stocking up on my various goodies for the night- I failed to persuade him that I had a problem. Apparently if you're not massively over or underweight then no one thinks you've got anything wrong with you.

He told me- in our next little session- that he had seen me hiding behind the stand of potato chips, looking very guilty with my bucket of Pina-Colada ice cream and packet of tiny Mar's Bars. What he didn't see, or hear about, was how I later apologised to the girl behind the counter for looking so suspicious. She only half-laughingly tells me that she had been a little concerned by my behaviour. I tell her the reasons behind my oddness- that the last person she served was my psychologist and that I hadn't wanted him to see me- and that was why I'd been slinking around the shop- waiting for him to pay for his petrol and leave- hopefully without noticing Me as well.

Well; that hadn't worked- now I had just made a fool of Myself in front of Someone Else as well.

The truth remained that he was still unconvinced that I had a mental problem even though he had just seen it for himself first hand- so I stopped going to see him. The fact that he said I was too personable a person to be mental does little to dissuade me from the possibility that I might be.

Like I told you before, though- he never really got to see the Real Me in action...