Food: An Abusive Relationship
[August 15th, 2016: 8:30am]
Wake up. What did I eat last night. What did I drink last night. Oh, right. Enough to make me feel like dying this morning. Better not eat all day to make up for it. Today is a new day. A new me. I will not eat unless I’m hungry, and if I do get hungry, I will not eat carbs. But today, maybe I just shouldn’t eat anything to kick the cravings.
[August 15th, 2016: 11:00am]
Ok, you have to weigh yourself so that you know what your starting point is. Just do it. Just get on the scale.
Holy shit, you cow. You worthless pile of trash. No eating. None. From here on out, you are DONE.
[August 15th, 2016: 2:15pm]
I’m so hungry. I’m SO hungry. But I can’t eat anything. You’re such a piece of shit for what you ate last night. You don’t deserve to eat anything today. Billions of people have a normal relationship with food, and fuck you for not being normal.
[August 15th, 2016: 6:45pm]
Your plans fell through with your friend. Someone on twitter was an asshole. You need comfort. You need something. Anything. But no. Nope, you don’t deserve it. Drink some alcohol. Smoke some cigarettes. But whatever you do, do not put any fucking food in your stupid fucking mouth.
[August 15th, 2016: 10:30pm]
You didn’t eat all day. You’re starving and drunk. Just eat something. You’re on vacation, after all. You will start again tomorrow. Tomorrow will be a new day. Tomorrow will be great. Tomorrow you will begin your path to being skinny again. Tomorrow.
[August 16th, 2016: 8:45am]
You did it again. You fucking did it again. You are so worthless. You are such an idiot. You don’t deserve food for two days. TWO. DAYS. If you accidentally eat anything (because you’re an idiot who can’t control herself) just puke it up. You’re good at that. You have experience with that. You have plenty of experience with that.
[August 16th, 2016: 11:00am]
Let’s check Facebook. Oh, fucking great. A “memory” from 5 years ago. When you were skinny. When you were pretty. When you were normal. (When you were sick. When you weren’t eating. When you were vomiting anything you did eat. You were so beautiful then.)
I am so hungry. I am so hungry. I am so hungry. But I know that if I eat anything, I won’t be able to stop. Why can’t I stop? I have never had a normal relationship with food. It has always been like a drug to me.
When I was a senior in college I did my senior capstone project on the science behind food addiction. Which, by the way, the DSM does not currently recognize as an actual disorder. I could go into the science behind it and how eating certain foods activates your dopaminergic pathways in the brain, which intrinsically reward you for what you’ve eaten. Which teaches you to eat that again. Which makes you crave it in order to feel happy. But, I won’t get into that right now.
This is a snapshot of one day. One average day, and how my attitudes toward food fluctuate throughout. I must stress to you, this is my every day.
I’m so hungry.
Humor is my biggest coping mechanism. If you’re following me here it’s because you’ve seen me on Twitter. Making jokes. Making fun of myself. Making a joke out of the very thing that tears me apart every single day.
I can’t do it anymore. I can’t continue to live like this. I can’t continue this cycle of self-inflicted abuse. I can’t continue to ignore my body and what it needs. I can’t continue to over-feed it as a coping mechanism. I can’t continue to purge in an effort to rid my body of my mistakes and flaws.
My body is begging, PLEADING, with me now. To pay attention to it. To think things through. To stop abusing it. To stop shaming it. To stop trying to kill it.
I wrote this in an effort to hold myself accountable. I want people to know my demons. I want people to be able to relate. I want to change. I really fucking want to change.
I’m making a commitment. Right now. To you, to me, and to my body. I will make an effort to stop shaming it. To give it what it needs. To try to sort out these behaviors that are killing me. I hope you’ll hold me accountable.
It. Ends. Here.