Food has always provoked strong feelings in me. I associate good times with food - past, present and future. I love the act of preparing food - the alchemy of flavour, and the excitement and contentment of mixing ingredients together - sometimes in quick movements, sometimes a slow bubble. Also I like to eat - to enjoy. Maybe it’s comfort food? - but now, and always I think, it's also control.

With type 1 Diabetes I can’t not think about food. The word think implies that this is always a rational thing - a strategy, a plan, but it doesn’t work that simply. It’s more a presence - a voice nagging away, but quietly - so I can’t hear the words clearly, a thought half grasped...

That day I didn’t want to eat. I felt I had to. Why didn’t I just choose fuel – a sandwich or something? 1 unit would have made me feel better – especially after breakfast!

I like food though, and I hate to eat because I have to. I thought a small pizza could be half way between a sandwich and a roast. But it was too big - more carbs than I wanted - than I’d planed for. So I have to leave a third of it. Why didn’t I know – why didn’t I guess? Of course the one I saw wasn’t the real size – it didn’t fit the sodding plate – why didn’t I see it!

And now the whole meal is about my mistake – my stupidity; and I’m embarrassed – I’m very publically wrong, and I hate it! My stomach contracts and this is what consumes me. So now I notice every flaw – the eating becomes a chore, a task – as now I’ve injected I can’t go back. I have to eat it, and each mouthful finds another issue – texture, taste, value – it all starts to swirl, and snarl.

I know I’m horrible to be around now, so I try to change tack. But it’s still there, and I can feel my eyes screwing up as I look around. I hate this! I hate me – why can’t I let it go!!

Fuck’s sake!

“Food Mood: roughs”