My Old Friends: Ana, Mia, and Ed

​I know what I did. I know why it happened. I am not sorry for my actions.

If you’re a new reader… actually even if you’re not… you might not know that I had/have an eating disorder. It’s hard to pick a tense for that kind of thing. I used to have an eating disorder that people find disturbing. In recent years I’ve stopped practicing it, but that doesn’t mean it’s gone away. It’s kind of like the fact I’m a lapsed Catholic: I don’t go to church, but I can still spout off all the Catholic doctrine I ever learned if inclined. Likewise, you never forget the things you learn when you have an eating disorder. You don’t forget that even vitamins and lip balm contain calories. You don’t forget the look of pity and horror on people’s faces if they ever figure you out. You don’t forget what it feels like to be empty. You don’t forget how good food can taste. You don’t forget what it’s like to realize that whatever you just ate didn’t taste that great, but you were so hungry that you ate it anyway and you have to punish yourself for that doubly. You don’t forget the highs, or the lows, or the shame, or the pride… You don’t forget any of it. You just learn to compartmentalize it as a part of your life that happened, and try to fight the want to go back to it.

A lot of people struggle with eating disorders, which is why I think it’s so fascinating that the image of eating disorders is always the skeletal white girl with thinning hair and dull teeth, dead behind the eyes but still standing in a power pose that shows off those hip bones. Those girls exist, obviously, and oh how I have spent a lifetime romanticizing and idolizing them, but more often the face of an eating disorder is a lot less… blatant. It’s a rare kind of person that can be a dedicated anorexic. I don’t have the willpower myself.

For the record, while I give anorexic credit for the self discipline they develop, and I obviously hold a certain amount of adoration for them, I don’t advocate getting yourself an eating disorder.

The face of the common eating disorder can be almost anyone. That surprises a lot of people. It can be men or women, of any race, with any kind of appearance. Someone with an eating disorder might be thin, fit, stacked, fat, or something akin to what an “average” person looks like. It depends on which version of an ED they adopt and how dedicated they are to it.

I was never a wisp of a girl. I’ve never been confused with a fragile person. No, I’m a fat girl. I’ve always been a fat girl, though I’ve been different kinds of fat girl over the years. As a result, when I got into bulimia, no one was concerned that I was losing weight, or how fast I was losing weight, or how I was even doing it. To be honest, for months no one even really noticed. I remember when I bought some new clothes and my boyfriend grabbed me around the waist for some reason, and just went, “Holy shit.” It was a good feeling.

A lot of things were happening at that point in my life. It was turbulent on a good day, but on a bad day a million things could happen. I feel like most people could describe age 18-25 that way, but for as many different reasons as there are people. For me, that time was a whirlwind of medication, bad life choices, and just trying find something I felt like I could control…. something… anything…

I think I’ve touched on the fact that I never thought I’d live this long. That’s not a thing older people like to hear, but it’s true. I never saw the future coming. I dunno what I THOUGHT would happen, whether I’d die or just hit some age and never get older or what, but I didn’t think I’d have to deal with life after elementary school, much less when life persisted and I ended up a high school graduate trying to figure out what I was supposed to do with the rest of my life. Adolescence had been hard enough, but learning to be a really real adult was like some kind of psychological torture devised by a wrathful god. So the first thing I decided to do was see a shrink.

This is not the story of how my shrink somehow tricked me into an eating disorder, or how they ruined my life. I loved my shrink. She listened to me, and I have spent a lot of time wishing that someone would listen to me. What she did do, was after a few sessions she prescribed me Effexor, which I quickly had to stop because my mom said it made me a terrible human being. After a few other sessions, she changed her diagnosis and so began the pursuit to find drugs that could control my bipolar mood disorder. The diagnosis evolved, and I got a few other shrinks, and I was on and off all kinds of medications from anti-depressants to tranquilizers and anti-psychotics. It was a running theme in my life to try and remember how I was supposed to take this one, and whether I took anything that morning, or if I was supposed to take them at night.

Aside from that, I’d started college. I never did well with moves to a new institution. I was nervous, I didn’t know where to belong in a world where no one seemed to flock together. My first day of college I tore all ten fake nails off my hands. They ached for days afterward. I just didn’t know how to deal.

My boyfriend was oblivious. He was a nice guy, but not the kind of guy someone like me was going to keep. He did what he was told, but didn’t have ambition for life. He didn’t do things like ask me about myself… he was just a good constant, in retrospect. Nice guy, but laden with his own problems, like his bipolar mother and brother. He escaped into video games, and I guess he just thought he could add me to his collection of bipolars that mostly took care of themselves. He was just around to pick up the pieces if one of us fell apart or got in trouble (which his mother did often).

This was also when I started binge drinking.

I’d never been a bad kid. I didn’t go to class and I picked up smoking, but I was never a stoner or a drinker or anything else in high school. It wasn’t that shit wasn’t around to do, I just didn’t care to do any of it. I was having enough problems just trying to be a human being, much less a human being with a real habit. I knew kids that got into marijuana, and kids that got into meth; I even know a handful of kids that got into heroin. It just wasn’t my bag, personally.

When I first started going to karaoke with my boyfriend’s roommate, it was just fun to go out with someone older than me. I didn’t have a fake ID or anything, so I’d just hang out and not drink. I was still underage and shouldn’t have been there, but it turns out that if you show up enough, people will just assume you belong there. So, at some point, bartenders just started giving me drinks. Sometimes I paid for them, sometimes they were free, but often I would shoot them more than drink them, and end up black out drunk. I’d tell you stories about that, but I don’t really remember much aside from flashes of driving home drunk or having to call my boyfriend to come get me and my car. That theme went on for a long time.

Anyways, I didn’t feel like I had control of mental health, my college work, my drinking habit, or any part of my life, and my boyfriend was so detached from me that he didn’t really even notice that I was struggling. I was drowning in what it meant to be an adult and trying to figure out how to work and college and party all at once. I was just lost in a sea of things I was not prepared to deal with.

It was around this time that an old friend came back into my life. Somewhere in high school I’d lost track of her, but she popped up on the internet, as pretty much everyone you ever meet is bound to at some point. It honestly could have been anyone, but it was her, and in high school she’d become a pretty devoted member of the Church of Thinspo. I’m still not clear what all lead to it. Her mother had always been preoccupied with her daughter’s weight for some reason, but then I guess her home life got bad when the ‘rents split up. Somewhere in all that, she stopped eating, and for a while that made everything better. Since all that, she’d been to rehab a few times to learn to eat again, and then played with bulimic habits, and eventually had concocted a completely demented relationship with food. It’s all she thought about… but it was everything she hated.

Our re-connection was brief, but the ideas took root, and grew into a weed that strangled the life out of any rational outlook I had on food.

I think that I was technically ED-NOS (eating disorder not otherwise specified). I was definitely bulimic, both in the sense I’d throw up after binging and that I used to track my calories and then go to the gym and try to exercise enough to burn twice as many calories as I ate. Exercise bulimia takes so much time. I used to be at the gym for 4 hours or more, in the dead of night. Also, though, I tried not to eat for days. At one point I existed JUST on Coca Cola. Other days I’d eat normally, and then go home and try to laxative the calories out. My versatility in how I manifested my eating disorder really helped me keep that shit under wraps.
In fact, no one ever found out.

So why did I stop? I’m sure you want to know.

One day I felt good about myself, and I ate 6 hot wings from my favorite pizza place. That was all. No pizza. No binging. Just a normal dinner for a normal girl that was celebrating being alive. As soon as I’d thrown away the box I became violently ill in my kitchen sink. It was completely involuntary, but I’d been doing it so much after eating my body had just done what I’d trained it to do.

I remember sitting on my kitchen floor, bits of spicy chicken still clinging to my mouth as I sobbed. I didn’t know why I was so upset at the time. It felt like a waste of food, but that was what I’d been doing for over a year, so that wasn’t it. It hurt coming up, because it was hot wings, but I’d vomited lots of heavily spiced food. Spicy food coming up was like cutting yourself from the inside. It felt good to hurt. No, I couldn’t have told you why I was so upset just then, but I know now. I’d lost control of the one thing I’d had absolute control over, and it was terrifying.

I never went to a rehab facility. I never told a doctor. I never did anything to get help. I didn’t breakdown about pizza or confide in someone about how much I loved the feeling of being so hungry that it hurt, or talk in group about how relieving it is to vomit everything out after you eat enough food to feed a family of four. I didn’t tell anyone. I probably could have gone to my grave with no one knowing how I lost so much weight that year, except that things have a way of coming out when you least expect them to.

I was in the car with my mom, recently, and I don’t remember what we were talking about, but I ended up saying, “when I was bulimic…” I died a little inside, but Mom was as unreadable as ever. I know it probably hurt her to find out that all that weight I lost was due to an eating disorder, especially since she gave me so much praise for losing that weight, and so much shit for gaining all of it back and then some.

Anyways, to take the long way around, I binged and purged for the first time in 8 years last night… and it felt as good as I remember it feeling.

It was absolutely revolting… Chipotle tacos, a burrito bowl, two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and a big cup of chocolate milk. It came out stick and oddly colored.

I didn’t throw up everything. I’d wager I managed about half of what I ate, maybe a little more, but the burn from the inside from the hot salsa was like hugging an old friend and the feeling of my insides going from bursting at the seams to suddenly having space to move again was nothing but familiar relief.

You never forget what you learn when you have an eating disorder….

And the thing about your inner demons is that they are always there for you when no one else is.


I have an eating disorder.

I watched a YouTube video over a week ago, and I’m still thinking about it. I don’t usually watch a lot of The Gabby Show, but it popped up and I was interested. It’s interesting to me how many people are struggling, especially the number of people willing to voice their struggles. I like Gabby; she’s full of stories. I didn’t expect her to be the kind of person that would have an eating disorder, much less talk about it openly on YouTube. I knew Shane Dawson struggled with food and weight and liking himself. I know that Hannah Hart speaks a lot of about how she deals with negative feelings and trying to just feel better. I know Markiplier goes out of this way to let his fans know that he’s got problems and he has to deal with them, but that he hopes his fans have to deal with less. I like these YouTubers for these reasons. I like people that are amazing in spite of being fragile. It’s important to me.

It was hard for me to think about Gabby having an eating disorder, but I wasn’t sure why it was so difficult to think about. It wasn’t until later when I was in the grocery store that I realized it’s because she doesn’t LOOK like she has an eating disorder. She’s not crazy thin. She doesn’t look gaunt and drawn. Her teeth aren’t rotting out of her head. She doesn’t look like she’s in trouble. I fell victim to the most basic denial reasoning, and I should know better. I should know better than anyone that you can look totally fine and be dying inside. Your outside appearance doesn’t have to dictate anything except that you want to seem normal.

Let me take you through a trip to the grocery store with me.
A, I’m a fat girl. Let’s start with that, so you can picture me appropriately. I’m not just fat in the middle, or just have a large bottom half… I’m fat in an all over kind of way. On top of that, I’m self-conscious as shit, so I spend an inordinate amount of time looking around to see if anyone is looking at me an judging my food choices.
B, I always get a small cart, because there is less room to put things in. Plus, I always start in the produce section, because if I fill my space with vegetables I have less room for danger foods. I pick up fruit and stare at it. If it’s a banana, all I can think of are the calories. If it’s citrus or apples, I think about the sugar content. If it’s berries or grapes, I think about how well I can portion eating (which is NOT WELL). In the end, I usually put the fruit back. From the produce section we go to the bakery.
C, I only shop the clearance section. If nothing looks good, I move on in disappointment. If something smells like garlic, I pick it up. In the meat department I only shop clearance, trying to find things that freeze well. I can spend twenty minutes at both clearance spots pondering if I really want or need anything, usually just to pick something up and come back to drop it off later.
D, The rest of the store is me picking things up at random, agonizing about everything I even think of touching, and then trying to be sure I have what I actually came for. At the end of the trip, I circle back through the store again and put back as much of my cart as I can.

In theory, it probably doesn’t sound like a bad idea. You pickup what you think you want, look at your cart at the end, and empty what you don’t need. My cart usually ends up with celery, some kind of fried or sweet item I don’t need but convinced myself I deserve, and Gold Peak Diet Tea.

When I’m out with friends, if they’re going to get food before something, I make up an excuse for being late. If we’re out late and they wanna grab a bite to eat, I make up a reason to go home immediately. On dates, I dodge any dinner invitation. This has lead to a few people being insulted that I want to go out instead of going to their place for dinner… but to those people I say, “Bitch, even if I ate in front of people, I wouldn’t go to your house! I don’t know you! This is how horror movies start, you stupid oaf!” But I digress… I don’t eat in public, unless it’s with my mom, and even then I try to eat the smallest bites possible so as not to look like “that fat girl wolfing down a burger without chewing.”

Don’t get me wrong. I’m under no delusion that I’m eating healthy. After buying my celery, I almost always pop over to Chipotle, ordering a bowl and some tacos under the guise of taking food to my mom, and then go home and binge eat everything, including the celery. I then spend as long as I can afterwards trying NOT TO EAT ANYTHING AT ALL. The point is that if you observe me… you’d have no idea how I got this big or maintain it. No one ever sees me eat.

I dunno where I’m going with this…

Don’t let someone’s outside appearance make you think they’re not hurting.
Everyone has problems… and they manifest in different ways.
Just let people be.

Also, if you are suffering, seek help.
I’ve sought a lot of help, and I’m very self-aware… I’m not cured, but I’m better than I’ve previously been. Don’t be scared of help… It’ll be okay.

Can I Just Sleep Until I Die?

I’m trying really hard not to let this whole thing get to me… but it does. You see, the problem with hope and happiness, is that both can be crushed beneath any stray boot. It’s better not to have them at all, than to have them just long enough to make losing them painful.

Until this past weekend, it had been a year since I was intimate with someone. More than that, it’s been three or four years since I was even interested in someone. I’d reached a point where I was okay with that. I’d pushed friends away, and avoided romantic situations, and aside from bad drunken sex I avoided human intimacy. Everything was fine; that’s just who I was now, and it was totally fine. Yeah, there’s always a hint of crippling loneliness. I get tired of going out alone all the time. I get sick of seeing couples in the street. Even romance in movies and TV made me feel uncomfortable and gross. It’s all so unrealistic, and yet it always looks so nice.

Of course you don’t know in three days if someone is worth your time, but apparently that’s all you need to want more human contact in your life. Sunday was such a lovely day, and it seemed so wonderful to have someone that I wasn’t trying to push away. I was just being me, and letting him see that. It was freeing and lovely and I wanted more, so much more. I’d rather I’d never felt that. Now, that feeling is gone and has been replaced by regret and loneliness. There’s a hole in the center of my body that I had learned to ignore for so long, and now it throbs.

Feeling badly, as I do, I thought I’d treat myself to a cheat day. I’ve been dieting, and the night before last I clock a total of 460 calories for the day, so I didn’t think it would be a big thing to hit 1700 yesterday. Today I’m back to dieting… and food no longer fills me with joy. I ate exactly what I wanted last night and it didn’t do anything. So, not only am I wallowing in my own misery, but the one thing that used to bring me joy no longer does anything. I just felt sick after cramming that much Chipotle into my face. Whatever is missing from my life apparently can no longer be placated with a burrito.

And maybe that’s good. I have a friend I text perpetually and always, and I realized how depressed I sound when I talk about this whole three day business, so I doubled back with the affirmation: “Well, if it doesn’t make shit better, then I don’t need to binge eat ever again! Silver lining!” Maybe that’s true. It doesn’t feel important though. Life just feels so meaningless that I don’t even want to be awake for it anymore.

My best friend lives 1091 miles away…. my secondary best friend just moved 1281 miles away…. my back up best friend wants to join the Navy and leave, not that I ever see her anyway. My mother is miserable. My job is currently being turned on its head and shaken. It’s going to be winter soon, and I’ll have to contend with snow. The only bright spots in my life are my pets, and unfortunately you can’t take them to dinner and a movie, or to a concert, or discuss movies with them. I feel lonely, and I hate everything right now… but mostly me… I hate me so much right now, for getting all tangled up in false hopes and fragile happiness, and for being genuinely surprised when it all fell apart. What am I? New? No. I know better.

I think I’ve mentioned this before, but I was supposed to kill myself this year. When I was fourteen I made a plan. I was going to do my life better than my mom. I was going to be married at 24, and start having kids at 26. I wanted two kids, and to live somewhere with a beach. We’d both work so that we had enough money to have nice family vacations, and by the time the kids were done with college we’d have enough money to travel around a bit before we retired.
The backup plan to that was that if I wasn’t married and had no kids by 26, I was going to kill myself.

I didn’t. I’m still here, obviously. Life hadn’t been good up till then, but I thought that this year I might figure it out. I thought this would be the year I committed to weight loss, and got my house in order, and I’d make some new friends and just enjoy being me. None of that happened. I’m still fat. Down 13 lbs as of this morning and I have 127 left before I’m remotely happy. I actually have LESS friends now than this time last year. I finally got some work done on my house, but everyday I just debate getting rid of everything I own and living in my house with nothing. Still might.

Nothing got better. Nothing panned out.
I don’t think I’m going to kill myself… because I have to take care of the pets. I just… don’t wanna be awake for this part of my life anymore. Everything is meaningless, and all I want is to feel close to someone again… and I know it won’t be for a very long time.

Damn me for trying.
Damn me for not knowing better.
Damn me for getting so lost that I let myself hurt me.

I’m having a bad life.

My losses and gains

So as of Friday, I am down 10lbs from my heaviest weight. I hope to never see my scale say 280, every again.

It feels like it’s taken forever to lose 10 lbs… and if I were sticking strictly to my diet, but all things considered I’m pretty proud of myself. I’m starting a stricter diet this week… Working toward not just staying within cals, but actually packing really good foods into it. 1200 calories of cake, is still 1200 cals, but it’s not nutritious and it will make you want more food later because you’re not getting the right stuff.

So… Gonna alternate caloric intake… 1200 then 1400 then 1200 again. 1200 is really low, so you don’t want your body to think you’re starving to death… I think the extra 200 every other day, ish, will help me consistently lose more.

My goal this week is 5 lbs. That’s more than twice what you should realistically lose in a week, but I need a confidence boost. So that’s the goal… but any loss, of course, would be amazing.

So what have I gained from this?

Much more respect for ridiculous food… because all I want is to binge eat junk… all the time.

Also, I have gained the realization that I will hate exercise forever.

So…. that’s just something I’m gonna have to deal with. I don’t like it. I absolutely hate exercising, because it’s awful and I always want to put a gun in my mouth afterwards, but I’m trying to ease into it. Right now my phone tracks my movement. I’m trying to move around at least 30 mins a day. Next week I’m bumping to 45. It’s not dedicated exercise. It’s “you walked to the mail box, then you parked at the back of the parking lot when you went to the store, and then you walked around the block at a leisurely pace with your geriatric dog.” So it’s not me on a treadmill with nothing to think about except what a piece of shit I am… it’s just trying to think of more reasons to expend a little more energy without really thinking about it.

Maybe later I will walk to Chipotle to obtain my salad instead of eating the one that I made myself…. Maybe. I dunno. We’ll see.

I’m not happy, or excited about this. I’m not reveling in my weight loss or feeling OMG SO GREAT. I hate it. I want to binge eat all the time. I don’t feel better about anything. I haven’t stopped craving shitty food. I don’t see any change in my appearance, and I don’t think my clothes fit better. It’s very disappointing. I know that I won’t start feeling any kind of change until 25 or 30 lbs down… And that sucks. It’s so much and so far and I feel really hopeless about it.

I wish I was only 30 lbs overweight. I could do that. If you told me this morning that I needed to lose 30 lbs and I would then be at my ideal weight, I guarantee I could drop that in a month.
But I am now 130 lbs overweight. Even if I could drop that in a month, I’d be left with flaps of skin and digestive problems.

I’m trying really hard not to make this a big thing. I don’t want to get carried away again and start throwing up every time I eat. I don’t want to be left with skin flaps, so I have to lose reasonably slowly. I don’t want to fail, but I don’t quite know how to succeed…

So that’s where I’m at.

Rant: Binge Eating & Addictions

If you have never had an addiction, I don’t want your god damned advice.

Seriously. Not to be rude, I’m sure your advice is great and magical, but with no frame of reference for what it’s like to have an addiction problem, you have no idea what I’m going through. Also, on the same vein, if you’ve never had a FOOD addiction, I still don’t want your god damned advice. Smoking and binge eating… totes not the same, bro.

People without these kinds of problems just don’t get it. It’s not their fault they don’t get it, either. It’s like trying to imagine a new color… you can’t do it, because your world has never given you the kind of stimuli to do so. You’ve never been a heroin addict, so you can’t imagine what it’s like to crave heroin, in spite of it “ruining your entire life.” You’ve never been addicted to cigarettes, so you can’t imagine why it’s so hard to “just not buy them.” You’ve never had a food addiction, so you can’t understand what it’s like to not be able to “just eat less.” You don’t know, and no one can fault you for that. At the same time, though, you are not the person that needs to be advising people with these problems on how to overcome them, and you should know that people, like me, take offense when you try… because… YOU DON’T FUCKING KNOW.

I happen to have a food problem… and, if we’re being totally honest a cigarette problem, a mild alcohol problem, and an addictive personality coupled with an impulse control problem. I already know this; I get it from my dad, along with all the crazy that festers inside me like an infected bullet wound.

Now, if you happen to have an impulsive friend in your life, you know we can get REALLY IRRITATING. I know we can. We end up in trouble a lot and we can very easily drag you into trouble with us. That gets old pretty quick when you’re not an impulsive person yourself. If you have a person with an addictive personality in your life, you know we can be REALLY IRRITATING, as well, because there’s nothing you can do to keep us from getting weird obsessive about things… God help you if you show a person with an addictive personality a party drug, because that is going to be their new thing for-fucking-ever, and they’re going to get baffled when you don’t think you need to do it all the time. That’s just facts. It’s life.

Being impulsive with an addictive personality means that I have to practice a certain level of control. It also means that I don’t always have that control, and that things are gonna spiral and get weird real fast. It’s just the nature of the beast. It’s my nature. Over the years I’ve managed to reign in the smoking. I smoke on weekends… maybe a couple at night if I am drinking or I ate too much. I’ve also learned to more or less curb the drinking habit. I drink Fridays and Saturdays… and sometimes I go dry just to keep an eye on it. The eating, however, I’ve never quite gotten a grasp of… because it’s different.

You can quit smoking and never touch another cigarette again. You can quit drinking and you can never touch another alcoholic drink, or step foot in a bar, again. You cannot quit eating. You can fast, sure. I’ve gone a good month without solid food (lots of juicing and smoothies), but sooner or later, you have to eat… or you die. Even the most dedicated anorexics have to eat a little something sometime… even if it’s just for the appearance of NOT being anorexic.

Okay, you have to eat, but you don’t have to eat until you’re sick. Just stop eating so much. It’s not that hard.

Yeah, I can hear that thought pulsating in your brain. What you’re not understand is that… I can’t.
What can I equate this to that is universally recognized?

It’s like breathing. You can hold your breath. Some people can hold their breath for a really, really long time, even… but sooner or later you have to breathe, and people that have a problem with breathing cannot hold their breath very well. In this example, people with a food problem are equivalent to people with emphysema.

I go to some extreme lengths to try and not binge eat. I don’t keep much food in the house, I avoid places with a drive thru, and I try to eat in public a lot, because I am self-conscious about people watching me eat. Still, there’s no precaution I can take for when I’m struck by impulse. All those things are great for bored-binging. If there’s nothing on hand to munch on, I can let it go. If I’m under a lot of stress, though… or I’m sad… or it just hits me, it triggers the impulse part of my brain, and I go buy too much food, and I eat all of it.

This happened last night. I went to Chipotle, bought two burrito bowls, ate them both. Made myself actually nauseous, because I haven’t been binging, so my stomach shrank a bit. I, as usual, immediately regretted it, but I gave up purging when my body started trying to do it after every single meal. So, instead, I smoked a lot and took two of my PM diet pills. I was still up 2 lbs this morning… it was discouraging, but not unexpected.

So what am I trying to say?

I dunno. My doctor wanted to talk about my binging on Friday when I saw her… oh btw, if you’ve been following all the posts, I DON’T HAVE CANCER!!! I didn’t want to hear it. There’s nothing my doctor can say that I haven’t heard from shrinks, teachers, parents, and friends 100 times over the years. I’m 25 and I’ve been fat since I was born… I got it.

Eat below 1500 cals, exercise for at least 20 minutes a day, and avoid trigger foods.

I know, but saying that and doing it are two totally different things. I can tell you how to do a lot of things… I can read an article on how birds fly and tell you exactly how to do it, but you will never be able to fly. I try every single day to eat less and try to be more active, but the thing in my life that I associate with happiness the most in this world is eating.

Given the choice, I’d rather binge eat than have sex. I don’t have to be pretty to eat. I don’t have to be funny, smart, interesting… I just have to get my hands on some food… Food doesn’t cheat. Food doesn’t leave. Food doesn’t ask when you’re going to lose weight. Food doesn’t ask you for money. Food doesn’t give you an STD. Food is great. All around. It does make you fat… but since food doesn’t care if you’re fat, it doesn’t matter.

Food does make me cry. It makes me cry because I can’t control myself with it. It makes me cry when I decide it’s okay to binge for a day, and it’s not as good as I wanted it to be. It makes me cry because I know that I’m never going to 100% overcome my problems with it. It makes me cry because my love of food might be the thing that kills me one day. It makes me cry for a lot of reasons.

I want to lose over 100 lbs. It’s been my only goal that was actually mine in my entire life. This weekend I thought I was closer to death than I ever have been in my life. And I didn’t binge eat. Yesterday I found out that I’m fine. And I binged like hell last night. Why?

I can’t tell you. I can’t even tell anyone that it happened, for fear of being bombarded with advice that is completely useless.

Oh my life.