I choose defeat; I walk away – and leave this place the same today…

 

Go figure.

Last post I made was lamenting about my weight, self-loathing, etc.

Several months later, here I am, embarking on my 3rd week of treatment.  I’m in intensive outpatient therapy for my eating disorder.  Binge Eating Disorder (BED).  Compulsive/Emotional Overeating.  Whatever you want to call it.  I have it. And I have for 30 years.  With some Anorexic and Bulimic tendencies.

Having BED is embarrassing and shameful to admit, because, honestly, in my fucked up head, there’s something “beautiful” about Anorexia and Bulimia.  Give me a moment to explain.  I’d sure as hell rather have the ED that would make me small, waif-like, and delicate.  Because of BED, I’m now the heaviest I’ve ever been in my life.  I don’t know what normal physical hunger is.  I only know famished to the point of being weak and lightheaded, or (and this is the majority of how I feel) stuffed to the gills, unbearably uncomfortable.

Who wants that?

But, I know that those of us with EDs are in the same (or at least very similar) struggle.  The mindset.  The obsessing.

So, who wants any of it, really?

I spend a lot of time alone.  I feel guilty for being a burden upon my friends.  And besides, how often can one stand to hear the same sob stories all the time?  I’m depressed, I’m sad, I don’t know why, I hate myself…blahblahblah.  I want to punch myself in the face just thinking about it.  Sadness, anxiety, panic; all of those things have been, for years, at least somewhat alleviated for me by food.

I can polish off an entire box of cereal in less than an hour.  Mounds of pasta in mere minutes.  Enough sushi to feed at least 3 people.  People will let you down; a loaf of bread and butter won’t.

It is my comfort…until I am physically uncomfortable.  Then the shame and guilt, about what I’ve consumed, consumes me.

I don’t want to be obsessed with calories or points or fat grams or how ugly/fat/worthless I am anymore.  I’m sick of it.  I don’t want to daydream about my next meal.  I don’t want to be more concerned about food than I am about family or friends.  It was getting to that point, and that’s kinda fucked up.

Only a handful of people know that I’m doing this.  Some don’t get it and some think I’m fine the way I am.  A few people have been so above and beyond awesome and understanding about it.  I’m grateful for those folks.

So, I’m trying to get at the bottom of what’s eating me, before I keep eating everything in sight, basically.

To be continued, I suppose…

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About meredithelaine

thirty-something. karaoke diva. just trying to get by.
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