We had these plates. Square. Ugly colors.
Ours were scarred up from knives and bubbled up on the edges from the microwave. They were our plates, though. I remember that I used the yellow one a lot. One particular memory: I came home from school (4th grade) and piled my plate with cottage cheese, tater tots with ketchup, and whatever else I could find. I remember most of it being white. Anyway, my brother said something like, "Whoa, that's a lot of food." I smiled and responded, "And this is just the first course."
I don't know what happened that day. I don't know what was wrong, but even in 4th grade and I was binging. I was standing in my "binge" spot. It was at the end of the kitchen hallway, behind the livingroom wall. I could eat without being seen if I sat on the floor. I could see the tv, though. Perfect for a mindless binge. My babysitter caught me there with a tub of ice cream, once. She yelled at me and took my food.
I remember a few baby sitters, but mostly I remember being left home a lot. I remember having anxiety attacks that would leave me sobbing on the carpet and my body feeling disoriented (my tongue felt too big for my mouth, the walls would move, and the room would spin). I thought at the time (about 8 years old) that this must have been "cabin fever". I still don't know what it was, but I'm sure anxiety, stress, and mental trauma were in cahoots.
Evie wants to eat. Lets see if I can manage.
I ended up taking a bite, even as my throat is burning from my morning binge. This sucks. Coffee with lots of peppermint schnapps. I hope it can keep me from going out there and making a plate of thanksgiving leftovers.
I don't know what ever happened to the yellow plate. We moved to Pennsylvania (from just outside Chicago) when I was 13 or 14. I don't remember them after that. Perhaps they were tossed. Mom had a better job when we moved. My aunt and uncle were willing to match her pay from the Shell district office, and the cost of living was half of what we'd been living in, so life was better. She only had 1 job. But the trash life took a while to wash off. Our house was still encrusted in cat piss and fur. My mother still drank beer at night and smoked in her chair while we watched local cable on our 21" crt television.
The dog is ringing his bell to go outside. I hate having to walk near the kitchen when I'm still on a binge. Fucking ridiculous that my 14yo son can't put him outside. He's standing RIGHT in the kitchen. He's eating, too. A quarter of a sweet potato pie 10 minutes ago and now he just took a plate of something out of the microwave. I don't even know if I should ask. What if it's something I want to eat?There's too much schnapps in my mug. Ugh.
We spent a lot of time in that small living room, in Pennsylvania. The house came with a dining room (which I'm not sure we ever really ate in) and a sitting room with a giant bay window and a fireplace, but we always ended up in the tiny living room on the piss-soaked Goodwill sofa. We watched Princess Di die in that room. We watched the ball drop. We babysat my cousins in that room. My aunt Charlotte was the only one who ever came over, and it was rare. The whole house smelled!!! My shoes, my coat, my backpack, my clothes. Cat piss and fur.
I could never make friends, unless it was with a gay guy. We lived in a time when maybe they didn't even know, but I always ended up with a gay friend. No one ever came over except for them. Probably because I was an outcast, too.
Once, I got ahold of some peach air freshener and doused my bag in it. It was so disgusting-
Opps! The baby's up from his nap.
