Brilliant … But Bouncy

Of Course I Was Kissing Mel Gibson.

No one asks about my eating habits.

Still, I struggle daily with what I can and cannot eat in my current condition. “Leaky gut” means that my intestines are disintegrating, making it very difficult for me to normally digest anything. And “autoimmune disorder” means whatever I eat affects whether or not I feel okay.

I am getting better. After nine months of eating no dairy, no gluten, no corn, no potatoes, no soy and no sugar, my numbers are all better. I’m trying to eat a little of this and that in moderate amounts, and learning that I still can eat almost nothing without some repercussions.

But no one asks about this. They are too busy trying not to shame themselves for what they eat. My own family has continued to eat whatever they want, every day, leaving me in the dust with my powders and supplements and unlimited vegetables.

On my own, though, I am trying to eat just one “forbidden” food a day – a little bit of feta on my salad, or a handful of popcorn – and see if I can thrive in spite of it.

When I was in high school, I saw a movie called Mad Max at the theater, starring a very young Mel Gibson. The movie was not my style, but my 15-year-old self enjoyed having two hours in a cool, dark place to stare at the man with the blue eyes.

Mel Gibson was drop-dead gorgeous. A few years after Mad Max, he was voted Sexiest Man Alive by People magazine. No one was surprised. The perfect symmetry, the dazzling smile, and an Australian accent on top of it all – what could be sexier?

A few decades went by. Then, suddenly and startlingly, Mel Gibson was outed to the public for being the devil incarnate. I won’t detail his atrocities. That gorgeous man became the ugliest creature the world has ever known.

So in the midst of my food struggles, as I was – alone – trying to find a balance between eating for health and eating for pleasure, I had a dream.

In this dream, I was lying next to a very young Mel Gibson, who was staring dreamily into my eyes and smiling. Then he leaned in, tentatively, and lightly brushed my lips with his own. And I was drawn in, and flustered, and giggly.

“We should do that every day,” Mel Gibson whispered. “One kiss every day.”

Then I woke up.

And I thought, Mel Gibson?! Why HIM, of all people? And almost before the thought completed itself, I realized: who else would it be?

Mel Gibson today is a monster, but originally he was beautiful. He perfectly symbolizes my desire for all the foods that will kill me – all those attractive, deadly foods. Every day, I eat a bit of indigestible gluten, a touch of dairy, a dozen grams of sugar.

So of course I was kissing Mel Gibson. Just like food, he was alluring – until he wasn’t alluring anymore.

And now, even though nobody has asked, I am trying to get back on track. Instead of kissing Mel Gibson once a day, I am remembering that being healthy made me feel happier. It made me feel calmer, less agitated.

Ice cream made me sick for 20 years. But the rest of the foods – banana bread, for example, and cheddar cheese – are every bit as attractive to me now as Mel Gibson was when I was 15 years old. And that scares the heck out of me. In fact, I’m surprised I’m not having full-blown nightmares.

Unless I just had one.