feeding on the fear

I can't stop eating. In the 13 months since he tried to hang himself, since that moment in his despair when he shared some of his darkest secrets with me - secrets that in the light of day & sobriety he would deny - I have gained 30 pounds.

Image from  http://risetiqks.blogspot.com/   

I eat in secret and in silence. I eat to soothe myself. And to punish myself. The sugar rush masks my fear and pain and guilt, and distracts me. It's so much simpler to hate my bulging stomach and my returning double-chin than to confront what's going on out there - with my son. The choking helplessness goes down with just a spoonful of sugar.

I didn't do this to him. I know that to some extent. I didn't give him his first joint, his first tab of acid, his first cap of ecstasy or his first line of cocaine. I didn't let him drink under-age (though I also didn't do much to stop him stealing any alcohol in the house). I wouldn't even know most drugs if I saw them sitting on the counter.

And yet. I can't stop hating myself. Feeling I failed him. Remembering the times I hit him in anger, or battered him with words. Thinking of all the times I could have done more to try and stop this descent. Thinking of all the things I didn't know but probably should have. All the things I couldn't protect him from. All the dark corners I didn't look into.

It's easier, to hate my body. To prove with every bite of chocolate and every scoop of ice cream, that I am weak. It's easier to choke down more food than even feels good than to sit with all of my bubbling emotions.

But it's not helping either of us.