I made a pie today. It's an apple pie and I made it from a sugar free recipe I found on the internet. I've made it plenty of times, and it always comes out good, if not so pretty. I wish I was a better cook. The only thing I'm really good at is flipping fried eggs. I also make a good cup of coffee. The only meal I cook really well is a chicken dish that doesn't have a name.
It's made with 3 to 6 skinless, boneless chicken breast and a bunch of vegetables. I use assorted peppers, brussel sprouts, baby carrots, onion, potatoes (if there around), zucchini and yellow squash. I chop up all the veggies and pour over balsamic vinegar, olive oil, Italian seasoning after whisking it all together. Sometimes, if I have bacon, I'll crumble bacon over the veggies. I place the vegetables in a flat roasting pan, pour the oil and vinegar over it, place the seasoned chicken on top, cover it with foil, and let it bake on 400 degrees for 60 minutes. Then, I take off the foil and bake for another 30 minutes or so until chicken is done and browned. It usually comes out pretty good. My family eats it, so I take that as good sign.
The reason I bring up the chicken dish is that nobody makes it like me. I have mixture of textures and flavors, not to mention the colors. It is picture perfect when I take it out of the oven. That's how everything I do must be; picture perfect. That's why this pie was so important. I wanted it to be full of apples, and a golden brown crust with little cut outs in the center. Instead, I had too many apples, and the edges of the crust fell off half way around. The rest of the crust was cracked across the top. To top it all off, I used too much stevia and made it too sweet. My mom can't eat it or her neuropathy will flare up.
Nothing has gone well so far the past few weeks, and I wanted just this one thing to be perfect. My intellectual side tells me there is no such thing as perfection. But, the emotional child in me is still trying to be the very best, prettiest, smartest girl I can be. I am still at the age of 53 still seeking approval. It's not from my parents I seek it. It's from myself. The same self who today told herself that she was fat, stupid and ugly and nobody wanted her around. This is what my brain told me all day long. I journalled to try and get that shit out of my head, but it didn't work. When I washed my face today, I couldn't look in the mirror.
That is why that pie with the broken crusts was so fucking important. I'm tired of pieces of me breaking off. Just today, I wanted to keep it together long enough to make one of the 3 things I make well. Tomorrow's task is to clean the bathroom. Maybe I'll flip myself a couple of eggs for breakfast. Peace, Joy, Love - B
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