Thinking about food.
You know how sometimes you can hear a thing so often, you become annoyed by it or find that it now has the opposite effect? "That's so bad for you!" "You're poisoning yourself." "You're making yourself worse." I've realized I'm tired of hearing it. I'm also extremely tired of hearing about the different ways food is bad for you. I find that when people say these sorts of things, I am even less inspired to "cook," "take care of myself," or whatever. I instinctively react against the repetitive statement that I'm already aware of but having a hard as hell time accomplishing, and I dig my heels in. So what? So what? So what? I'm still alive and eating enough to have a regular heavy period, which indicates to me that my diet could be worse. I sometimes want to say, "hey, at least I'm not drinking soda and chowing down on chips," but the way most people react to my diet, it seems that might be an improvement of sorts.
I don't like cooking. I don't like the heat. I don't like the knives. I hate the way raw meat feels. I've heard so damn many stories about food poisoning that I'm afraid of causing it because I forgot to wash this or left that out a little too long or forgot how long I cooked something for and didn't cook it long enough. I also have trouble keeping track of all the parts and the time required for each. "Start preparing this at when that is at a certain point" is challenging, because inevitably I find I have to focus on one thing, which causes me to forget that other component.
I find the dishes created to be overwhelming. The number of dirty dishes and the effort they require feel downright unreasonable when I consider that I'm only feeding myself. This directly relates to the fact that dishes are my number one most hated chore.
When I get home after work, I'm tired. With my current job/commute, I only arrive about two hours before I go to bed anyway, and as a lifelong habit, I usually try not to eat a few hours before I sleep. So if I have just a snack, what's the problem?
Frankly, nine times out of ten, I eat "something" to make the hunger go away.
But it's not just that.
Do I care if I am killing myself? Yes and no. On the one hand, it's certainly a scary thought. Most of us are not prepared to die, and the thought of doing something directly causing our own deaths when we could avoid doing so is unthinkable. So yes, if my life gets better, I do care. I also care if this will someday give me a massive heart attack so that nobody can revive me and force me to live a half life because of their morals. If I give myself a heart attack, and thereby avoid winding up as the little old lady in room 795 that no one ever visits, that one who's hooked up on oxygen and in so much pain she's on drugs most of the time, then great.
Even though I am beginning to see myself in a larger, more distant future, and can envision a plan that culminates years from now, I still can't imagine reaching my 70s or my 80s. The idea of making it that far secretly horrifies me. Say I fail at my secret planning, say I am forced back - if my life remains as it is now - quietly isolated, not what I want to be doing, living on the financial edge not because of splurging but because of income, well ... I don't know if I even want to make it that far. Even if I do, I have no true siblings, I don't intend to have children, and unless I die in a mangled car wreck, I'll probably outlive my family. No one is going to be there when I die.
For the record, I don't intend to fail or fall back, but that in itself adds another layer of difficulty. I only have so much emotional and mental energy to spend, and right now, since I think I am certainly depressed, that amount is lessened. Every time someone tells me I'm killing myself with the way I'm eating, I want to make rude gestures or replies. I can't handle it. Nearly all of my will is focused on fixing my life right now. With what am I supposed to take this next problem on? I've got money, career, future school and all the requirements, depression, fixing my social life, "gotta be independent" and all those general "the future" issues on my plate right now, so I'm booked. Try again later or help me out some way, 'cause I just don't have the capacity to care enough about it right now. I go through phases where I'll eat salads or where I'll totally think I'm going to try this cooking thing, but I can't hold onto that energy.
And at the same time, given my fears about meeting my untimely end in a variety of ghastly ways, a slow death by bagels and chocolate does not seem that bad.
The end result is that I seem ungrateful for the concern of others and I continue to eat cereal and sandwiches.