Yet Another Eating Disorder. Sigh.

Is it me, or does there seem to be lots of new diseases and disorders running around out there? I think that everything has split into smaller, more precise, more focused groups. Take, for example, split personalities. The first recorded cases involved women (always women) with 2 or 3 other personalities; then in the 1970's, along came Sybil with 16, which was considered outrageous. Flashforward to the 1990's, and Trudi Chase and her 100+ personalities (called "the Troops". They even got credit as authors of her book). I haven't read anything recently on this subject, but I wouldn't be surprised if one day I read that some poor person was actually over 200 people. As modern stresses and pressures increases, damaged individuals are splintering into more and more personalities.

Take also, eating disorders, which are becoming more and more intricate and precise. Once there was anorexia (not eating), then along came bulimia (eating then throwing up) and now there are all these modern twists on the fear of food: people who severely restrict the range of food they eat (vegetarianism taken too far, for example, is actually an eating disorder, with some psychologists calling vegans mentally ill), or cases of children and women who have a psychological fear of food, for fear of it "making them fat." When did we get to the point where people are frightened of eating, when did people start thinking of food as something that "did bad things" to them, as opposed to keeping them alive and healthy?

These musings were triggered by an article I read on the BBC on-line, called "I am an orthorexic" by David McCandless. I was intrigued, since I've never heard of orthorexia and thought it might have something to do with fear of orthodontists (which I could actually sort of understand). Instead, it turns out to be yet another splinter group of people with very sick relationships with food, like extreme vegans or Nazi Buddhism dieters. Sigh.

McCandless writes that, "Orthorexia nervosa is an unhealthy obsession with healthy eating. Unlike the related anorexia, sufferers are concerned not with quantity but with quality. It's not about feeling fat, but about feeling pure. Orthorexics exhibit an over-enthusiasm for pure eating and healthy food...(the person) painstakingly coasts the shelves for produce that is organic, (with) no added sugar, low in saturated fats, high in essential fatty acids, locally produced, packaged in biodegradable cellulose, with a big fat fair-trade cherry on top." He adds that, "Orthorexia is a modern condition, as yet unrecognised by the medical profession. Studies are underway to see if it should be acknowledged." If it becomes a sort of fad (no doubt it will first hit among supermodels and then high-school girls), then it most certainly will be recognised, as every attention-seeker tired of bulimia - which was so 90's! So passe! - will take it up. Humph.

I think it actually has nothing at all to do with food and everything to do with the most overwhelming mental illness out there right now: collective fear and guilt. Is it guilt and shame at having so much when others have so little? Is it a form of control over something, in a world that is more and more out of control? Is it a feeling that you can make a difference - somehow, somewhere - no matter how small? Is it a last-ditch attempt to "purify" ourselves and make our bodies temples, in this day and age of waning religious convictions?

I don't know. I don't get it. Everyone agrees that obesity is bad for you, but in light of all these twig-thin people, obsessed with every celery stick and sip of soya milk that passes their pursed up little lips, I have to say that I'm beginning to think that people who stuff themselves on McDonald's and deep-dish pizzas are far more normal. Not to mention to mentally healthy.

Pass the potato chips. Yep, I'm still sane!

Blessed Freedom From Force-Feeding

Back home, safe and sound and stuffed to the gills with food. As I am reminded every single time that I go to my boyfriend's parents' place: it simply does not matter if I want to eat, I will eat. It's my duty, and my destiny is determined the moment I set foot on the train to go to their house. It is inevitable, inescapable, non-negotiable, way out of my control. I will eat breakfast, and I will drink tea, I will have cake, then I will eat dinner, then more tea and more cake, then I will eat supper. I will eat for Canada. My body's cravings and urges and demands and hungers do not factor: I stuff my face when the clock says it's time to do so. "I'm full" does not compute, nor does "But I'm not hungry" and "But I don't like herring with green olives." Mothers always know best - even when they're not technically your mother.

All of which leads me to ask: what is this insane thing that women have about stuffing their guests so full that they physically cannot move? Is it to have a captive audience (literally) to chatter to? Is it because a full to bursting person is in a food coma of sorts and too stuporous to talk, to fuss, to say anything at all? Is it a measure of a woman's womanness that she feeds people; is her prowess and expertise in the kitchen a sign of femininity? Or maybe it's just basic biology: have breasts, will cook. Am I some freak of nature because I'm allergic to the stove; am I a traitor to my breasts because I don't own an apron? These are thoughts that are only occuring to me now that I am safe at my desk at work, not eating because I am not hungry (gasp!). Perhaps I am finally emerging from my 3-day food coma. One of the first things that shows my return to consciousness is that I'm quite pleased to note that my clothes still fit.

Happy Easter!

I know that Easter is technically tomorrow, but since Piotr and I are off to his parents' place this afternoon, I'll have to wish you all a Happy Easter today. The weather over here is meant to be warm, but not necessarily sunny: a quick peek at the news forecast this morning revealed rain and more rain, and today is misty. Looking out of the window is a bit eerie, actually, with the trees poking out of the fog, people appearing out of nowhere and then disappearing just as quickly. It all looks like a scene from Hound of the Baskervilles (who else had that at school as "required reading"?). I'm waiting for a giant Hell Dog with red eyes to bound out and get some old woman as she heads home with her Easter shopping.

As in all countries, Poland has its own Easter traditions and practices - nothing to do with the Esater Bunny, though. The local chocolate producers do, of course, make chocolate bunnies and eggs and baby chicks (sigh), but the big thing is that we're not supposed to eat meat on Good Friday and then we eat lots of kielbasa on Saturday and Sunday. I guess it all balances out, somehow. Piotr's Mom will take a basket with bread, salt, eggs and white kielbasa to the church today and the priest will bless it, then we'll all eat the holy food and...ummmm...be blessed inside? Whatever. It's a nice tradition. I guess.

What else? Oh, the power systems are all go in the flat now, since the electrician replaced the whole socket, which was burned and black. We're lucky we didn't blow the whole building. And I skyped (this word is now a verb, somehow, in my vocabulary) my Dad last night and we talked for almost an hour...I love the whole Skype thing! International calls are FREE (well, not FREE, exactly, but the service is just included in your monthly Internet service fee, and there are no additional charges). If you have friends or family overseas and you have computers, get Skype. It is the future of communications and espensive international calls will be a thing of the past. And thank God.

Shower Predictions

For the past two weeks, I've determined what kind of day I'm going to have by how my morning shower goes. If it blows all the electricity in the flat - thereby killing not only the hot water heater, but the fridge, lights and heaters as well - then it's going to be a bad day. If, by some miracle, I manage to wash my hair, wash my face and shave without causing the whole flat to plunge into cold and darkness, then it's going to be a good day. I'm sorry to report that over the past two weeks, I've had a few more good days than bad ones, but not that many more. Many, many times I've been smack in the middle of shaving my right underarm only to have the washroom light flicker, then die, followed immediately by the shock of freezing cold water hitting my armpit. It only tickles the first time; after that, it pisses you off.

What's the problem, you may ask. Well, the flat that we live in is a converted flat on the top floor of a 50-year-old building. The flat itself is gorgeous, flawless, amazing, beautiful and a real architectural and design triumph. We love it. The only tiny, eensy little problem is that the flat was converted into a living space about 10 years ago. Before it was a huge room with clotheslines hanging haphazardly around, waiting to strangle you, with a sawdust floor and open gaps in the roof where people in the building hung up their laundry. I know because the door across from us doesn't open onto a flat with people, but a laundry room with murderous clotheslines and a sawdust floor that follows you home, with pigeons cooing away happily. Anyway, the point is that we're not on the building's internal heating system, and so our whole flat is run off electricity: the stove, the space heaters and the hot water heater...all electric. So, when one things goes, the whole system is shot. As we discovered this past winter when the city had power failures.

And just recently, something has gone wonky with the damn hot water heater: first, it isn't working properly, so hot, hot showers are slowly becoming a fond, yet distant, memory. Second, it you force the issue (we've discovered a trick to get the hot water flowing more easily) it seems to cause a massive power surge which overloads the whole system and then makes it blow. This is when Piotr has to go down the stairs with a stool and a new fuse and risk life and limb (or at least burning his fingers) to replace the fuse, while I stand shivering in a towel with one shaved armpit, gloomily predicting the day ahead.

The landlord is coming by today (finally!) with an electrician, so we'll see if all can be resolved this morning. Just to let you know: I had a very successful shower this morning, have taken the morning off work and am having an Easter lunch at noon, courtesy of my boss - so I am pleased to report that today is a good day.