Thalasar Ventures

Story of a Binge Eater

Only one light was on in the Peterson house. Everyone was asleep except Elaine, whose presence at the refrigerator around twelve-thirty was becoming a nightly occurrence. Over the weeks since she began making her nocturnal visits to the kitchen after the Johnny Carson show, the form that stood in the light of the open refrigerator door cast a shadow on the kitchen floor that grew and grew.

As soon as Johnny’s smile began to fade from Elaine’s television screen, it seemed her mind could no longer control her body. Cursing at herself under her breath, her feet carried her to the kitchen, her heart beat fast as if on the way to a clandestine love affair, and her whole being lusted for the contents of the refrigerator, every little tidbit she had been virtuously resisting all day and most of the night. For hours the container of rice pudding had been calling to her, joined by the three short ribs left over from dinner, swimming in her special barbecue sauce, and in the back of the bottom shelf where she had hidden it behind a loaf of bread, the last of the lemon meringue pie. It was only a sliver, but she had been obsessing on it all night.

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In the early stages of Elaine’s bingeing she had just eaten the contents of the leftover dishes. Then she began to cook extra so there would be more leftovers. Soon her little cache of late-night appetizers wasn’t enough, and with a “What the hell, I’ve blown my diet now” attitude she made excuses to go to an all-night supermarket, ostensibly for cat food or scouring pads but really for popcorn, potato chips, packages of cookies and cakes, enough for a party.

Sometimes she managed to wait until she got home, and other times she started eating in the car. Afterward, she went to bed, leaden and appalled at what she was doing, filled with shame. But she couldn’t stop.

One night, the car binge still didn’t satisfy her and she went into the kitchen and cooked herself a grilled-cheese sandwich. Suddenly her husband was standing in the doorway.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

“Just getting a head start on tomorrow’s cooking,” she lied. He didn’t challenge that, but there was a disdainful look on his face.

Her extra weight obviously turned him off sexually, for he kept his distance from her in and out of bed. That was the deepest hurt of all, and yet she was fully conscious of everything she was doing. Cliff was not a big man, and she knew her extra weight made him feel small, but still she couldn’t help herself. One night, hoping the truth would act as a deterrent, she got the courage to step on the bathroom scale. She had gained thirty pounds in three months. It had taken her a year to lose them. She wept. Her solace was immediate: more food.

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