I can't help but feel it, that guilty feeling. That feeling that I'm forcing people to go out of their way to accomodate an invisible illness. I can't help but wonder, "Do people exhale a sigh of relief if I decide not to join them for dinner?" Do they feel like a burden has been lifted because they don't have to "eat like me"?
I can't help but wonder, "Do people prefer if I don't go on a trip with them?" They can pack tortillas and bread into their backpacks as they head into the mountains, not a care in the world. Crackers, beef jerky, licorice, granola bars. Do they feel guilty for packing those things if I join them?
Why?
I do not care if you pack a sandwich. I do not care if you order pizza for dinner. I do not envy your powerbar. I do not miss the tortillas. My feelings are not hurt if you eat the cinnamon roll.
I don't change my eating habits for you. Why would I expect you to change your eating habits for me?
But...I can't help but wonder:
Would my parents prefer I skip Thanksgiving, so they don't feel obligated to the the wheat-less stuffing?
Do people prefer it when I decline their invitations for dinner, because they can more fully enjoy themselves?
Is it easier if I just don't eat at all?
Do people think I'm defected?
Should I pretend to eat that cookie so people don't know?
Should I just not say anything next time?
Is it okay that I write this blog?
Who am I making uncomfortable with my dilemma?
Do people think I'm just picky?
Is it okay if I don't want to pick the restaurant because I don't want this to rule my life?
Is it okay if I just eat where you want to eat? I usually make do.
Would my friends prefer I don't bring snacks to share with the class?
Is my food really all that bad tasting?
Why are people afraid to eat their food in front of me?
Why do they apologize when they eat in front of me?
I'm not starving. I'm not drooling. I'm not even desiring: that food hurts me. I don't want it. I'm not sorry I can't eat it.
I can't help but wonder:
Whose dilemma is this? It's certainly not mine.
