​Food Addiction Syndrome AKA Stress Eating

​Food Addiction Syndrome AKA Stress Eating

Are you stress-eating? Trust me-you are not alone!

It was a Saturday. My morning started with a too normal yet still burdensome epiphanic, sort of, moment: “Gosh, I have too much to do!” I had a 300-450 word response journal due by Sunday midnight for which I need to read two stories—being “studious”, I kinda started reading it last night yet I fall asleep, and I guess I could recall what the book was talking about only as much as I could recall what I dreamed about while I fall asleep (right now, I don’t even remember if I dreamed at all); a paper due Tuesday—which, by the way, I have very few idea about; an economic exam coming up Thursday—I did not digest even Chapter 1, 2 material well enough yet although we were on Chapter 6; plus other typical small weekly assignments; plus, a piano lesson which I should be practicing ahead. So, I made up my mind that I would seriously work this weekend.

After practicing piano, I sat down to start collecting information for my paper assignment. Half awake, half asleep, I googled “Brexit Impacts on Scottish Referendum for Independence”. Millions of tabs on my chrome; I became overloaded with information. So, I figured I should take a break (not that I had worked too hard). Not knowing how to be productive, I just thought I would go to D’hall and have breakfast though I was not hungry (Food would give my brain energy). There started my food addiction syndrome.

An omelette,

a French toast, and

a glass of milk.

I thought it would be enough. In fact, it was way more than my normal breakfast, an oatmeal.

Being a fast-eater, I finished them within ten or fifteen minutes. I was kinda full. Yet, I did not want to leave D’hall yet. I thought about what I needed to do when I left D’hall. I thought about lots of work waiting for me. In my mind, I subconsciously measured the pressure imposed by each work. I was scared. Of what?

Of work?

Of starting?

Or of being imperfect when I start my work? (though I knew I am imperfect and, at least, to me, perfection is unattainable).

Anyway, I got up and got a three-quarter glass full of soymilk. I instinctively took a cake, dipped it in soymilk. Not even thinking, I walked to get egg, sausage and gravy. Then, I came back, sat down and had them all.

Sometimes I wonder if that was love for food that made me eat too much?

Do I even love food that much?

Or, again, is it stress?

Or, is it fear of starting?

Or, is it a way to procrastinate?

That afternoon, about an hour later, I got up from the desk at Martin, walked to the College Center and got a bowlful of pita breads with hummus. Again, I was not hungry but I could not just sit, study and concentrate. My Scotland paper had still not been started. The google tabs were still open.

I finished them all—not the reading tabs but the ten pieces of pita breads in a row (While writing about it, I am ashamed of it).

Why was I spoiling myself?

Was it because I like pita bread too much?

Was I just losing control?

Was I protesting against things I should do by indulging myself and doing things I knew I shouldn’t do?

I thought about it while studying. I thought about myself not doing what I should do, not following healthy habits. I thought about myself not controlling myself. I thought: Was it

Love for food?

Mere indulgence?

Anti self-abstinence (a revolution against self-abstinence)?

I thought and I read about Scotland.

Three hours later, I got up again and walked without a specific direction and ended up at Zime. There I got a latte and a white chocolate raspberry scone. I ate about a quarter of the scone there waiting for the latte. Then, I got the latte. As an afterthought, I got another scone. Coming back to the library with two scones and a latte, I tried to study.

I was not hungry. I had too much homework.

I finished a scone. My homework had not gone any farther.

I started a second scone. I closed what I called Scotland Info tabs.
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8 Reasons Why My Dad Is the Most Important Man In My Life

Forever my number one guy.

Growing up, there's been one consistent man I can always count on, my father. In any aspect of my life, my dad has always been there, showing me unconditional love and respect every day. No matter what, I know that my dad will always be the most important man in my life for many reasons.

1. He has always been there.

Literally. From the day I was born until today, I have never not been able to count on my dad to be there for me, uplift me and be the best dad he can be.

2. He learned to adapt and suffer through girly trends to make me happy.

I'm sure when my dad was younger and pictured his future, he didn't think about the Barbie pretend pageants, dressing up as a princess, perfecting my pigtails and enduring other countless girly events. My dad never turned me down when I wanted to play a game, no matter what and was always willing to help me pick out cute outfits and do my hair before preschool.

3. He sends the cutest texts.

Random text messages since I have gotten my own cell phone have always come my way from my dad. Those randoms "I love you so much" and "I am so proud of you" never fail to make me smile, and I can always count on my dad for an adorable text message when I'm feeling down.

4. He taught me how to be brave.

When I needed to learn how to swim, he threw me in the pool. When I needed to learn how to ride a bike, he went alongside me and made sure I didn't fall too badly. When I needed to learn how to drive, he was there next to me, making sure I didn't crash.

5. He encourages me to best the best I can be.

My dad sees the best in me, no matter how much I fail. He's always there to support me and turn my failures into successes. He can sit on the phone with me for hours, talking future career stuff and listening to me lay out my future plans and goals. He wants the absolute best for me, and no is never an option, he is always willing to do whatever it takes to get me where I need to be.

6. He gets sentimental way too often, but it's cute.

Whether you're sitting down at the kitchen table, reminiscing about your childhood, or that one song comes on that your dad insists you will dance to together on your wedding day, your dad's emotions often come out in the cutest possible way, forever reminding you how loved you are.

7. He supports you, emotionally and financially.

Need to vent about a guy in your life that isn't treating you well? My dad is there. Need some extra cash to help fund spring break? He's there for that, too.

8. He shows me how I should be treated.

Yes, my dad treats me like a princess, and I don't expect every guy I meet to wait on me hand and foot, but I do expect respect, and that's exactly what my dad showed I deserve. From the way he loves, admires, and respects me, he shows me that there are guys out there who will one day come along and treat me like that. My dad always advises me to not put up with less than I deserve and assures me that the right guy will come along one day.

For these reasons and more, my dad will forever be my No. 1 man. I love you!

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From One Nerd To Another

My contemplation of the complexities between different forms of art.


Aside from reading Guy Harrison's guide to eliminating scientific ignorance called, "At Least Know This: Essential Science to Enhance Your Life" and, "The Breakthrough: Immunotherapy and the Race to Cure Cancer" by Charles Graeber, an informative and emotional historical account explaining the potential use of our own immune systems to cure cancer, I read articles and worked on my own writing in order to keep learning while enjoying my winter break back in December. I also took a trip to the Guggenheim Museum.

I wish I was artistic. Generally, I walk through museums in awe of what artists can do. The colors and dainty details simultaneously inspire me and remind me of what little talent I posses holding a paintbrush. Walking through the Guggenheim was no exception. Most of the pieces are done by Hilma af Klint, a 20th-century Swedish artist expressing her beliefs and curiosity about the universe through her abstract painting. I was mostly at the exhibit to appease my mom (a K - 8th-grade art teacher), but as we continued to look at each piece and read their descriptions, I slowly began to appreciate them and their underlying meanings.

I like writing that integrates symbols, double meanings, and metaphors into its message because I think that the best works of art are the ones that have to be sought after. If the writer simply tells you exactly what they were thinking and how their words should be interpreted, there's no room for imagination. An unpopular opinion in high school was that reading "The Scarlet Letter" by Nathaniel Hawthorne was fun. Well, I thought it was. At the beginning of the book, there's a scene where Hawthorne describes a wild rosebush that sits just outside of the community prison. As you read, you are free to decide whether it's an image of morality, the last taste of freedom and natural beauty for criminals walking toward their doom, or a symbol of the relationship between the Puritans with their prison-like expectations and Hester, the main character, who blossoms into herself throughout the novel. Whichever one you think it is doesn't matter, the point is that the rosebush can symbolize whatever you want it to. It's the same with paintings - they can be interpreted however you want them to be.

As we walked through the building, its spiral design leading us further and further upwards, we were able to catch glimpses of af Klint's life through the strokes of her brush. My favorite of her collections was one titled, "Evolution." As a science nerd myself, the idea that the story of our existence was being incorporated into art intrigued me. One piece represented the eras of geological time through her use of spirals and snails colored abstractly. She clued you into the story she was telling by using different colors and tones to represent different periods. It felt like reading "The Scarlet Letter" and my biology textbook at the same time. Maybe that sounds like the worst thing ever, but to me it was heaven. Art isn't just art and science isn't just science. Aspects of different studies coexist and join together to form something amazing that will speak to even the most untalented patron walking through the museum halls.

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