Why my subconscious is cooler than yours

Did you know that Sparky has a better sense of smell than me?  I mean, she’s the cook and everything but I didn’t realize that her sense of smell is better.  I was standing at the sink washing out a pitcher and then she piped up that the bread was ready.  I had completely forgotten about the bread and argued with her that I needed to finish the pitcher, which at that point she insisted it would burn.  So I took the bread out of the oven, noticing that I couldn’t smell the bread until I was right up close to it.

It’s a weird life.

I enjoy cooking. I’ve come to it slowly, over many years.  I used to refuse to cook anything except ramen or spaghetti for myself.  Anything that required actual culinary skill I shied away from.  I ate a lot of Lean Cuisines and Smart Ones meals.  Blech.

Being empowered to cook and experiment with my own food changed my life.  I embraced eating and how enjoyable a meal could be for what felt like the first time.  Before food wasn’t something I necessarily enjoyed.  Some people live to eat, I eat to live. When I get stressed out I stress starve VS stress eat.

My mother once told me I looked like a woman from a Renoir painting, her way of saying I was full figured.  My sister told me to lose weight because I had the air conditioner cranked up high one day.  My grandfather read an article in the paper about obesity and pointed to the pictures and asked “You aren’t going to be like that, are you?”.  My mother accused me of binge eating chicken.  My mother.

My mother who would regularly go on a food binge that would last for weeks.  Sometimes she was on the Popcorn Diet, all popcorn all the time for all meals.  Or it was the Cotton Candy Diet, or the Canned Peaches/Pears and Cottage Cheese Diet (This diet was the first one where I actually questioned it at the grocery store.  My mom was ringing out and I was helping my sister pack groceries.  I said to my sister as I placed can after can of peaches or pears into the bags, “What are we supposed to eat?” and she hushed me and glared.).  There was the Pie Diet, and the Fettuccini Alfredo Chicken Helper Diet, Pizza, Ramen, Sphagetti… it goes on.

Whe ate a lot of sphagetti and a lot of ramen.

My mother liked to bake when she was happy.  She made cinnamon rolls, the best cinnamon rolls. I’ve never found a substitute for her cinnamon rolls, when I think about the cinnamon rolls and my mother at the same time I smile.

I suppose I should reraddress the title topic.

My alters are the avatars of my subconsious and run the conscious mind.  Mostly I’ve very compartmentalized, and apparently have the super power of toast smelling from long distances depending on who I am.

Also, there is an eighth personality I didn’t talk about last time.  Her codename is Fluffy, she is my monster.  But really, she just wants to be loved.  She looks like a weird hairless cat monster about the size of a great dane and lives in my head with the rest of us.  She doesn’t know how to read or write and has only recently learned how to talk.  She was sad yesterday because I forgot to mention her but she didn’t have anything to say so I didn’t think not being mentioned would make her sad.

I feel like a bad pet owner.  Similar to when Lil Sis was younger and I felt like a bad parent.

Tired now, and all out of words for the evening. Although my therapist said that even though I feel like fragmenting again is a step back, I should be proud of my self awareness and be accepting of my new levels of understanding of the situation.


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