Half a Cake

Tonight I ate half of a cake for dinner. I covered half of my half with almond butter before consuming it, alone, in front of the computer while reading old G-chat conversations with some of the guys I've dated in the past 6 months. By the time I came to my senses, I noticed half of the cake was gone. I cried (for about the 600th time today) and threw the other half of the cake away immediately. I nearly pulled a chunk out of the garbage to munch on, until I realized that was incredibly disgusting, closed the garbage bag and walked away.

It was SO Miranda Hobbes of me.

I've been in such a funk lately, and the more I try to figure out the reasons why, the funkier I feel. Truth is, it felt good to eat that cake. Comforting. Relaxing. Until the moment I realized half of it was gone. 30 minutes later, my stomach is starting to ache from all of the sugar. I'm almost positive I won't sleep tonight, even though I've been tempted to crawl into bed since 7pm.

I didn't want to eat half a cake tonight. I wanted to be held. I'm so longing for someone to put their arms around me and not let go until I tell them, only to hold on for a second longer after that. I actually tried to hug myself earlier. I wish I was kidding. It didn't have the desired effect--I must work on my self-hugging skills immediately. I have no idea what's wrong with me or how to work through whatever is going on in my head; all I know is that I want to be hugged, held so tightly I can barely breathe, more than anything in the world.

I'm trying to be gentle with myself as I work through this seemingly never-ending rough patch. But half a cake? Really?

Breathe. Tomorrow is another (sugarless) day.