I think I have food psychosis. I literally get psychotic when it comes to my food. I think it comes from the long line of food abuse I suffered as a child.

There are so many stories I could tell you which might confirm my diagnosis but I will share only a few.

When I was a young girl I loved Orange Crush soda and Snicker Bar. These were my favorite summertime treats. I would put my soda in the freezer just long enough to get it slushy and frothy and when I came home from a long day of bike riding, I would enjoy my cherished treats. One time in particular I came home to find my Orange Crush in the hands of my older step-brother (whom I hated for real) and the Snicker wrapper sitting on the kitchen table. When I saw that bottle up to his crusty ass lips, and my empty wrapper, I went ballistic. I was so mad and I went to tell my step-mom who looked at me like I was nuts. She said to me “it’s only a damn soda, here’s fifty cents you can go buy another one.” She just didn’t understand that first of all, I felt like my things were stolen from me and I wanted her to punish the thief who took them. It didn’t satisfy me to simply have her give me money to go buy another one. It was the principle. And, I had to suffer the teasing of the step-brother who knew nothing would happen to him for taking it. Oh, I hated him.

Another instance was in grade school. There was this bully who used to take things off students’ plates and lick it or take a bite out of it and say sarcastically “oh, you didn’t want that did you?” That used to piss me off so bad. So, one time I walked past his table (don’t know what possessed me) and I summoned up a snot loogie and spat it in his plate. With this crazed look on my face I said to him “oh, you didn’t want that did you?” The Principal happened to see me do that and I got suspended for the rest of the day (which was lucky cuz it could have been me and the bully, lol). He had to call my mean ol’ daddy to come get me and I got my ass beat. As I tried to explain why I did that, I got no sympathy or understanding.

My young brother (my biological brother) and I used to have to sit at the dinner table alone together. We was separated from the step-family dining (unless it was a special occasion). One time my brother was messing around with his food in his mouth and was chewing it all up then he would squish it out of his mouth so that it oozed out the sides. I thought that was so gross and I couldn’t get him to stop. I was trying to eat my food and that simply disgusted me. So, I decided to do that to him and I put a bunch of mashed potatoes in my mouth and just as I was squishing it out the sides, my mean ol’ daddy happened into the kitchen. I got my ass beat right there at the table. He was smackin me upside the head and telling me how nasty that was. Of course, I was tryna tell him that my brother had started it, but he wasn’t hearing that. Then, my mean ol’ daddy scooped up a mouthful of my food off my plate, chewed it up and spit it back on my plate and beat me upside the head forcing me to eat it. I hated my mean ol’ daddy too.

My mean ol’ daddy loved to eat Tripe, which he made me cook for him and watch on the stove so it would not burn. If all the water cooked out the pot, the Tripe would burn and stick to the pot. I hated that chore, I hated Tripe, I hated my mean ol’ daddy. Well, I decided I could go outside for a while and ride my bike and be back in time to make sure the Tripe wouldn’t burn. WRONG. Ya’ll know I got my ass beat as I was standing there crying over the stove tryna scrape that rotten burnt Tripe off the pot. For an additional punishment, my mean ol’ daddy forced me to eat a piece of that shit. I gagged and felt as if I was going to vomit. He told me that if I vomited he was gonna beat my ass for real. Oh, I hated him.

That psychosis has remained an integral part of who I am today. Don’t fuck with my food. If I have made my plate and am sitting down to eat, I refuse to move until my food is gone. I won’t answer the phone, or the door, or even leave the table until my food is gone. I am afraid someone will fuck with my food. I used to almost beat my kid’s ass if one of them would mess with something I had placed in the refrigerator for myself. I literally had to hide shit that I bought or write my name on it if I placed it in the refrigerator, and dared a mofo to touch it. My poor children thought I was psychotic. And, I am about my food. They learned to ask before eating a damn thing. Po’ chiles.

Sometimes, for a special treat I will go to the bakery in the morning and grab a cranberry muffin to have with my coffee at work. One particular morning, I went to the break room to warm it up and there were people in the hall of the courthouse. As I walked back to my office with my nicely warmed up delicious muffin, a lady that I kinda know reached at me pretending to grab my muffin and she said “oh, you shouldn’t have” and I snatched my hand back so hard, my muffin fell on the floor. I just glared at that bitch and walked away, leaving that muffin on the floor. The next morning, she showed up with a fresh muffin, which I was scared to eat. LOL

Which brings me to my current setting. Today, I was in the break room eating lunch, which I often do alone, and one of the ladies I work with came in. She leaned over my plate and started talking shit about what I was eating. She made such a fuss, talmbout “oh, that smells nasty” “oh, that looks gross” “what the heck is that you’re eating” – damn, it was only a Healthy Choice microwave dinner of turkey with gravy and gotdamn veggies. I didn’t even look up or comment, but my mind was saying “back the hell up off me and my food.”

Now I know how a Rottweiler feels when someone reaches for his dish.