Food and Me (2.0)

Food should be simple. It fills your belly. It gives you energy. It keeps you alive. But it’s so much more than just that. Food is the one constant in your life. It’s the one relationship that will literally last a lifetime, growing and developing as you do. Some people have a more…dysfunctional relationship with food. I count myself in that group of people.
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I run into the house with years streaming down my face. I am young - 7 or 8 at most. My mother comes running downstairs at the sound of my cries. She pulls me into her arms, and then leads me to the sink. I sniff as tears stream down my face. She gently rinses the gravel from the scrape on my wrist. I wince and struggle, but she holds me firm as she runs cold water over the wound. When she's satisfied she turns off the water and wipes away my tears. She asks me what happened and I get out something about falling from my bike before I start crying again. She shushes me and gives me another hug. She directs me to the couch and turns in the tv. She leaved, and when she returns she holds a big bowl of ice cream. I gladly accept, and the moment I take the first bite, the scrape starts to hurt a bit less.
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I'm 16 and starting to break under the pressures of school. It's 2 am and I run down to the kitchen after a particularly bad fight with one of my friends. I grab a bowl and some ice cream and sit alone in the dark. The ice cream becomes slightly salty from my tears. I feel better for a bit, but there isn't enough ice cream in the world to make everything ok.
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Following a dissection in biology I swear off meat forever. For a week, the sight of it repulsed me; I don't see a cut of steak, but rather the baby pig splayed on the tray and oozing with chemicals that give off a nauseating smell. Then I spend the weekend at my friend's house, where her mom confidently asserts that I'll be craving a cheeseburger within a week. Immediately I set out to prove her wrong, and I spend the next 365 days holding to my vow. At the end of the year I feel a sense of achievement; if proved everyone wrong, and now I can go back to eating hamburgers.
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I walk through a line of desserts with my mother close behind. As I pile up my plate with all kinds of cookies, cakes, and other delightful sweets, my mom chitters behind me- don't take do much good that's too many sweets you'll get fat you'll get diabetes put that back. Finally I grab a massive brownie off of the table. My mom glares at me and begins a "young lady don't you dare..." I stare straight into her eyes as I take a massive bite out of the brownie. She gives me one last glare and stalks away. Immediately my victory doesn't taste so sweet. What I've swallowed feels heavy in my stomach and I head for the nearest trash can. I spit out what's in my mouth and resist the urge to vomit. Instead I drop in the remaining food. To this day, I don't know if I feel bad for defying my mom or if what she's been saying this whole time finally hit me.
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So yeah. I guess you could say that I have a dysfunctional relationship with food.