I binged again. Consequently I am, once more, adrift at sea.
I can’t even bring myself to recall everything I ate today. I am too horrified and ashamed. I blitzed the biscuit aisle, I know that much.
I am frightened. I wish I never had to think about food again. I wish the concept did not exist.
Here I am, self-destructing – actively and regularly self-harming through food – and nobody knows. I look normal, so nobody will acknowledge the problem. I am crying out but there is no one to save me.
Tomorrow I will call a binge-eating help line. I need a plan. My doctor’s appointment is not for another two weeks and I have to survive in the meantime.
Long gone are all thoughts of having put this behaviour in the past. I will not be so deluded in future.
My terrified, anxious brain is too afraid to trust and try. It prefers the known road. It will self-sabotage rather than trust. My brain does not believe in me.
I am not saying I won’t beat this. I just haven’t worked out how to do it yet. I know that I must take one day, one hour, one minute at a time.
If I can manage one day without using, perhaps I can manage two.
The problem is, nothing feels so comforting as those first few bars of chocolate or pieces of sugary cake. My filling belly is like a hug from the inside. How do I replace that? What else could be as good? I hate that that feeling means so much to me. But I am lonely and I am lost and I am creatively frozen. My energies have nowhere to go, so I stuff them down with chicken and fries and chocolate and cookies. I don’t know what feels better: abstinence, or giving in.


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