I have a relative who is an addict. I was sympathetic but I never used to understand the addiction; I was glad I did not share it.
I have now been so depressed for so long that my mind has become a low-serotonin landscape. I use food to give myself an injection of feel-good hormones, even though it is ultimately damaging. I use food as a drug. I’d suspected as much, and a new BED book I’m reading has confirmed it.
The way I see it, normal people are helium balloons. Things might get them down, but they naturally float back up. I, however, am a balloon filled with regular breath. Things might lift me up, but I always drift back down.
I am a lot like my relative. Same inferiority complex; similar feeling of almost having given up.
I always wanted this person to fight their disordered thinking, slay their demons and start to believe in themselves. But how can I expect that of them when I cannot do it myself?
What happens when you don’t believe in yourself? What happens then?
I just wolfed down an overpriced lemon crepe in about two minutes flat. I never used to understand my relative’s addiction, but I understand it now.