Mealtime (is still: , Re: More re: WIC)

[Guest guest]

Oh my, writes, " And I guess " force " isn't really

accurate, because there isn't really any way to force someone. "

Should have told that to my parents and the doctor. The doctor told them I

should be

force-fed. My mother told me how she and my dad put me in the high chair and

held me

there while they opened my mouth and forced the food in and then held my mouth

closed so I

couldn't spit the food out.

As an older child I was not allowed to leave the table till I'd cleaned my

plate. I

remember sitting there, crying, for most of the evening, with that noxious fish

on the

plate in front of me.

Fish? I cannot eat *any* sort of seafood at all. I gag involuntarily. This

isn't

something I " choose " . I cannot help gagging. Even the smell makes me sick to

my stomach.

I remember mealtimes as a time of stress, when the family was all together and

family

problems came out. My sister and I had terrible fights, and kicked each other

under the

table.

So often mealtime involved spankings and punishment and being forced to sit

there and eat.

Our mother (and I can't blame her, she did the best she could with what she had)

was so

anxious, so very anxious that she would do the right thing and not do the wrong

thing.

The intense anxiety surrounding meals, the stress, the horrible

tension...sometimes I'd

get the heebie-jeebies, the jim-jams, and the screaming meemies and want to jump

out of my

chair and run away from the table, screaming my head off. Food was such a

*gigantic*

problem, and the harder our well-meaning mother tried to force us to eat what we

should,

the more miserable mealtimes became.

I put " Mealtime " in the subject line. Looks like an innocent word, but right

now I'd like

to twist my face up and snarl and scream and come on all sarcastic and spit out,

" ME-E-E-E-E-EALTIME " in as ugly and vicious a voice as possible.

Mealtime! Mealtime! I want to vomit and scream when I hear that word!

WHERE THE HELL DID THIS RANT COME FROM????

I wasn't intending to rant as angrily as this!

My problem is food! Alcohol is not the primary problem. It's just a variation

on the

theme. It's just one edible/drinkable thing I had a problem with back at the

end of the

'60's and into the mid '70's. I am *not* an alcoholic! It's not booze, it's

*food*

that's the problem. Booze was just a variation of the eating problem.

Mind you, I see nothing wrong with having a child at least taste something. I'm

all in

favor of that. But that's not the same as this stressed, anxious, maddening

forcing,

being forced to sit there and try to eat this stuff while crying piteously and

drooling

uncontrollably and gagging involuntarily and getting scolded and shamed.

Ugh! Ugh! Man, I'm really ranting! Almost 60, and still trying to get away

from that

goddamn fucking dinner table!

I don't know what it's going to take to get over this. I've been trying for

*years*. I'm

almost 60, and food is *still* a problem I have not solved.

BLEAGGGHHHHH!!

Best regards,

nz