I have been baking and cooking. I bake whole wheat bread. I roast pumpkins and turn them into pies. I make vegetable soup for the Boss (the partner) with my own vegetable broth as base. I preserve to enjoy later.
When I spoke to my psychiatrist last week she asked me what I had been doing with my time since I left the outpatient treatment program. I told her I've been baking bread. Embarassed, I quickly added that it's kind of weird.
She interrupted me, "That's not weird at all."
Yesterday when I served up a slice of pie to a dear friend of mine she asked, "Why the baking? Why now?"
In the past I never had food on hand. I never filled my refrigerator. I never made more than one serving. I never had left overs and I definitely never made pies. It was lonely and I was lonely. I was always afraid of opening a new package, of making more than I needed. What if I ate it all? Isn't it a waste if I make it, only eat a portion and leave the rest to spoil in the back of the fridge?
Now I am sharing my food. Enjoying food. I am not so lonely, and definitely not alone.
No comments:
Post a Comment