It’s quite grand that my theory doesn’t require explanation or rationalization or proof. It just is. I think that’s a godsend for us. We’ve been looking for the smoking gun for so long. What if it isn’t about proof? It’s just about faith.

I fight against the proof on a daily basis. I strive for explanations. That’s a non starter.

I also don’t like theories that are moving targets. I need things I can refer to at will, at liberty. I need to be able to hold on.

The reason I randomly wake up and act on an impulse 180 degrees opposite to the way I was behaving for the previous many days is because the direction of my life is not so cut and dry. What seems to be the right choice or the sensible and sensitive routes to take are apparently sometimes completely wrong. And part of me knows this and is willing to reverse course at times. I try to improve myself with therapy. I try to eat right. I try to become a better cellist and musician. I try to learn to be a better husband or boyfriend. I strive to be a better father. I work towards being more sociable and personable. But sometimes all of these efforts are wasted and ill advised. Sometimes I’m really supposed to throw all of my wisdom to the wind and look for the folly of my purportedly altruistic ways.
As I write this, it occurs to me that being a better person may backfire if I am not a very good person. I am giving myself the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it intrudes on my ability to control my eating because I am unearthing things about myself that don’t exist, and in the meantime I have given myself carte blanche in the indulgence department. I am off kilter. My behaviors are simply reactions to erroneous thinking. They have no meaning in and of themselves. That’s why I don’t have binge eating disorder. I have Adam living disorder. I am out of order.

So what if my compulsions can be deciphered? Can I come full circle with them? Can they be resolved, reunited with themselves, and set free? To perhaps annoy another hapless victim? Because I don’t want or need them. I don’t need them in their present form, I don’t need them in their infancies, and I don’t need them while they’ve been festering and foisting themselves on me in the intervening years. I need peace. I need undistracted wisdom. I don’t need insecurity. Or nail biting. Or nose picking. Or finger picking and squeezing tension. Or compulsive eating. Or obsessive thoughts on all manners of things, one of which is food of course. Or tension filled sleep.

I want them to be reunited. And returned to sender. They are of no use to me. Goodbye. Goodbye. It’s been nice knowing you. See you. See ya.

I need balance. I need to find a place where the fear of death and the quality of life is not filling my mind and heart with tension and dread. Let my first encounters with fear and my current adult obsessiveness emerging from them become friends of the first order. Let them have a merry old time together. They don’t need me to have fun. Fear and compulsion are fast and intimate bedfellows.