Sporadically binge-eating, that’s where I am. I’m up to Part Two of the book Overcoming Binge Eating, which is where the self-help program begins. I am afraid to try the program – I haven’t even picked up the book for a couple of days – but I will. I must. This cannot continue.
This week started well enough; I was focusing on just eating normally, with a skew towards the low-cal. Because, when I’m not furiously stuffing food into my face, I’m trying to undo the damage wrought by the former. I had a cheeseburger and fries at a pub for lunch today, because I felt like it. I fancied a sweet afterwards, out of habit more than hunger, but I made myself wait until I got home, where the food is home-made, and thus health-conscious – and free. At home I curled up on the couch with a cup of tea, half a sliced apple, and two gluten-free coconut flour chocolate cupcakes I had made and frozen. Reasonably low-cal, high-fibre – happy days. I ate my treats, and then thought about the dates I had stashed in the cupboard. And promptly ate about 25. And then ate the third cupcake I had defrosted. And then defrosted and ate the last three. Great.
All this is while knowing I was to go to dinner at a colleague’s house tonight, for the first time. I have absolutely no physical need for more food today. Coconut flour is filling, yo. But I will go, and I will eat, and my hosts will, I hope, be none the wiser.
It’s a getting-to-know-you dinner, I guess, with my colleague and his wife. Either that or a “you seem sad at work; come over because we feel sorry for you” dinner. I enjoy conversation and dinner parties, and I like my colleague, and I’m sure his wife is lovely, and I’m touched that I am invited. But I am dreading the conversation. I’ve just been so unhappy lately, and keeping mum about that is so very draining. I just get tired of lying.
“What have I been up to? Well, eating a lot, for a start. I might not’ve mentioned my binge-eating disorder. It is soul-destroying, and symptomatic of my relentless depression, paralysing anxiety and low self-esteem. I’m a bit of a sad act at the moment, really. Wallowing in the depths of my despair, you know. Could you please pass the salt?”
“What am I reading at the moment? I am struggling through my first Wodehouse, actually. It’s a great book, and I’m enjoying it, but I am so goddamn anxious and overwhelmed by the world and the enormity of it, and so overwhelmed by choices and the fear of failure – and success – that I am paralysed, and can’t actually bring myself to finish it. So I probably won’t, and then I’ll hate myself a bit more.”
“What are my plans for my time London? Oh… to survive it? Is that not enough? To not have my weary, tortured body finally give up on me and collapse on the pavement in a sad heap of faded dreams and wasted potential?”
Excuse my black mood, readers, if you’re out there. But I did want to use this blog as an outlet for the good, bad and ugly. And this is the ugly.
Off to dinner now. Wish me luck.