To Whom It May Concern:

I have a personal story to share about my fear of eating in public. It is a story told in the frozen, terrified expression of my face when I am in the presence of food in a public setting. It is a story told in the plate of uneaten food that stares at me disappointingly. It is a story untold of the defeating and hurtful words that rain down privately in my mind and flood me with feelings of being weird and incompetent as I struggle to eat in public. In telling this story, in speaking these words, I hope to find the compassion and understanding that escapes me; to bring to the surface what is drowning in silence and shame.

I can imagine that there is an audience that is profoundly moved by the first few lines of this story. For certain, the audience would include my mother, father, brothers, sisters, and closest friends. For certain, the audience would include strangers who have walked a lifetime in my shoes and know intimately the reality of my words. My family and friends would be moved because when I hurt, a piece of them hurts. Those who have walked in my shoes would be moved because when I speak of my hurt, I speak of their hurt. Beyond this safe group, there is an audience of the general population with no immediate tie to myself or my experience. I hope my words find a way to move you because when my loneliness is heard, I am no longer alone.

The significance of being afraid to eat in public is the loneliness that accompanies it. Sitting alone in a tucked away corner of a dining hall, I turned away from my uneaten burger and began to write the following list of reasons to overcome my fear: So I can go out with my friends. So I can go out with my family for vacations. So I can go out for lunch with a friend. So I can go to office parties and potlucks. So I can go out with coworkers for lunch. Writing these reasons on a tablet of paper was a convenient distraction from the uneaten burger that stared disappointingly at me.

Beyond the loneliness and disappointment, what troubled me most about being afraid to eat in public were the defeating and hurtful words that rained down privately in my mind and flooded me with feelings of being weird and incompetent. I suddenly would feel strange and alien, with the plate of uneaten food fueling my beliefs. I so wanted to eat, but could not. It made no sense. I was angry and did not understand. For certain, I would not judge anyone or think less of them if they struggled with a fear of eating in public, or any other irrational fear, disability, or challenge. Ironically, however, I am not as understanding of myself.

The compassion and understanding that escapes me fuels the following flood of fears: I look out of place. Why can’t I do this? I want to close my eyes. Someone is looking at me. This person must think something is wrong with me. This person is staring at me. I am waiting for something to happen. They’re going to say, "Aren’t you hungry." I’ll have to smile. I look stupid. I have to drink something. I’m looking stupid. I appear incompetent. I look nervous. I’m so embarrassed. I don’t fit in. They can see me anxious. It’s all over. I look stupid. I am such a loser. Why can’t I do this? I look like an idiot.

For someone who feels so ugly, it is only natural to wish to feel otherwise:

I wish I was beautiful

I wish I could be loved

I wish I was innocent, white as a dove

I wish I could be heard

I wish I could say the words unsaid and not feel absurd

I wish I could open up inside

I wish I didn’t have anything to hide

I wish I could say what I wanted to say

I wish that everyday

I wish I was a star

Except for being so far

I wish I was found

I wish I could make a sound

I wish I didn’t feel so down

I wish someone was around

I wish I wasn’t bound

Senseless by fear, frozen to the ground

I wish you and I could see

The real me

Although my fear of eating in public intimately colors so many details of my everyday life and identity, my story would be faceless if I could not share more about myself.

I was just a baby when my parents left their homeland and brought our family of five children to this new world. And so my speech is primarily free of the accent that reveals a dialect peppered by foreign words we still speak today in the home. Even so, I am still very much foreign and different. From the shape of my nose to the color of my skin: these are the physical expressions that identify a different culture and lend clues to the telling of a different, yet incomplete history. But even so, the obvious only serve as landmarks in a landscape of expression that makes up my unique self, and the unique selves of us all that collectively ask for acceptance for our differences.

I have a secret passion I would like to share with you. I fell in love with the idea of learning another language. I think it is because of the comfort I find in sharing differences. I started learning this language, as do most high school students, when I took it as my foreign language elective. A foundation was laid, but interest fleeted as the few words I knew made conversation impractical. During the summer of my first year at college, I heard the music of this culture on the radio. The fast tempo was very attractive to my nervous disposition and the foreign sound was ironically comforting and compelling amidst the loneliness and feelings of being lost while at school.

I was asking for acceptance in the only way I knew how, to take the time to learn about these musical expressions that offered an affirmation of culture, a culture that was different and beautiful. Unknowingly at the time, I did so with the hope that I could give a voice to the silent self that marks my culture. This is where I find myself. I know that I am different. I try to identify with what is different and seek out its beauty to establish and affirm my own selfish but very real romanticism with beauty. This is how I go about my passion and search for identity.

I hope the above three paragraphs lend a face to my fear of eating in public. I hope it colors your perception about the uniqueness of us all and our desires to find acceptance. I hope it invites you to find an identity apart from your fears. I have been frank and open in my choice of words. However, I have made an attempt to remove revealing details to protect my anonymity and undermine any attempt to draw broad conclusions. I open my heart in a guarded fashion. I am aware of the stigma associated with being different.

The reality of my fears has taken an abrupt change with medication. I am taking medication and am able to eat in public. The transformation was sudden and brought with it an immediate sense of self acceptance and the very noticeable quieting of the defeating and hurtful words that rained down privately while eating in public.

I embraced my newfound freedom by boldly experiencing eating in public. I ate in the open and purposely selected a table or seat that was in clear view of passersby. The blank gaze and shy downward looking eyes were replaced with an eager, open expression.

Medication opened doors to the social interaction that centers around eating in public. It brought me freedom from fears that intimately protected me for so long. But this perspective made me lose a very vulnerable part of myself that ironically, in its absence, I found beautiful and attractive.

The telling of my experience with medication would be irresponsible if I neglected to disclose the negatives as well. My most compelling side effect is the brain fog that I wake to. It is this loss of alertness that has motivated me to experiment with the least amount of medication that still maintains my ability to eat in public. I use a pill cutter that enables me to do this. I abide by sound principles of gradually decreasing medication. I studiously break a pill into smaller parts to reduce my daily dosage.

If the description is unsettling because it alarms you to the mechanical nature of taking a pill to do what is a very natural task of eating, I am confident you are aware of the stigma of being different. Strangely, I am comforted by the idea that I am different and humbled by my strength during the past years of my life struggling with eating in public without the benefits of medication. I am hopeful that this perspective speaks a great truth. Yesterday, I thought I was so weak. Today, I am lucky to see that I was so strong.

I currently walk a tightrope, performing a balancing act of taking the minimal amount of medicine to drown the hurtful words that rained down privately in my mind, while preserving what is different. It is my greatest hope that we are all able to find the compassion that escapes us, and to bring to the surface what is drowning in silence and shame.

Sincerely yours,

Far from perfect

Please share any comments or questions by sending an email to the following address far_from_perfect2002@yahoo.com

It would be very nice to know that I am not alone. Thank you.