A Eulogy to my Eating Disorder
From anorexia to orthorexia. Thanks, drunkorexia.
Isn’t the end goal for most of us suffering from the aforementioned eating disorders to see the numbers drop, to waste away into nothingness — a slow form of decay in hopes that it will lead to our heart stop beating. A suicide plan if you will.
My head’s in a mess. It’s in an overdrive. I look to starvation my old friend for some sort of control. I count calories obsessively. To others, even 500 calories might not seem like a lot. But to us, it’s hell on earth. It feels like we have lost total control over our own bodies — and to lose this only control we have, we deem ourselves as absolute failures, as with other parts of our lives. It could be work, school, relationships. It could be anything.
No thanks to my addiction to alcohol, which I must emphasize, contains a shit ton of calories, I have to work it off at the gym to maintain a deficit.
So the routine goes, I get to work sober, leave the dreaded workplace for the gym. I acquire a tad bit of happiness from the endorphins post-workout. But when I get home, alone, I drink and I drink. I watch the ashes from my cigarettes fall into my ashtray, an imagery I’d to think would be akin to the ashes of my body scattered into the sea, for the last time.
Doctors have advised me not to over-strain my body as not only am I a heavy drinker and smoker, I’m literally running on no food but caffeine all day. My heart is weak, and so are my lungs.
Perhaps deep down, this is my way of killing myself slowly but surely.
How does one recover from an eating disorder, whilst suffering from an alcohol addiction? It’s a catch-22. I need alcohol to numb myself from my major depressive disorder, but the calories from alcohol fucks with my head, so I over-exert myself at the gym every day for hours on end after a trying day of work.
I’m stuck in a never ending loop, and no one is able to help me unless I want to help myself.
