The biggest topic of the next few days/weeks seemed to be my ever disappearing weight.  I know I know, oh poor me, I’m thin to begin with and now I’m loosing weight.  But it wasn’t like that.  I wasn’t fasting or dieting or even really paying any attention to food except what I had to feed my kids.  It wasn’t a priority and the thought of it made me sick.  I have always said how much I love food, I’ve even been known to say I love it more than my kids.  I joke of course, but really cooking has always made me feel better.  Creating something that has an instant gratification and could be savored by those you love just gave me a sense of accomplishment, pride, joy.  I had nowhere to cook as of now and it made me angry.  I had nowhere to use my good dishes, or set a table or stroll the grocery store aisles where I believed it was the land of possibilities.  My world had changed in a matter of minutes, days, weeks and I couldn’t see anything past the initial moment  I was in.  I couldn’t imagine finding someplace to lay our heads again, let alone cook a Sunday dinner. I would sit down to dinner at my parents house and inevitably someone would say “You’re not eating? You have to eat.”  I knew this as an actual fact, but I couldn’t bring myself to put the food in my mouth.  It made me twinge in the back of my throat just thinking about it.  I noticed a little that I had lost some weight, but I supposed losing ten pounds when you started at 125 is a big deal?  It didn’t seem like it to me.  I could see myself in the mirror and all I saw was tired and run down and pathetic.  Not thin or too skinny.  I would go to my girlfriends house for dinner and she too would say the same thing “You have to eat.”  I wasn’t a child.  I knew I had to eat, I just couldn’t’ do it.  Like all of a sudden I had some phobia to putting food in my mouth.  Coffee, wine, no problem, a solid meal or protein, no way. I avoided the eating times surrounded by people who would be staring at me watching to see what I ate and how much.  At the end of every day I would get quizzed by my family, friends and kids….”What did you eat today?”  I didn’t have to report back to them.  I was in charge of myself and did not have to answer to anyone.  Something inside of me had changed, was more damaged than I had originally thought.  I get it yes, I’ve gone through some trauma, my daughter this homeless thing, but food….that was always where I felt better.  Where things made sense to me.  You could follow a recipe in the kitchen and even if it didn’t turn out exactly like the recipe and it was still good, you would be able to feel good about yourself.  Watching your family devour each morsel with delight.  At least that’s how I thought of food, and cooking and my kitchen.  Now everything felt, looked, smelt, tasted bland.  My whole life was bland.  I will reiterate this statement only for the severity of the issue:  I have been home ten days, I have a physically disabled child that was in a near fatal accident, I have zero money as jolly guy of whom I will no longer say his name stole all the money in our bank accounts along with denying me the money that he agreed was owed to me, I had no job or prospect of a job since I had been a stay at home mother for the past nine months, My unemployment had run out two months prior, I have no income, I have no home, my life is in my parents garage, you think I can catch a break and just miss a few meals without getting the third degree!?!  Nope, life doesn’t work that way.  If you don’t pay attention to taking care of yourself, guess what?  The universe reminds you how small you actually are in the control of your own self.