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Tuesday, June 5, 2012

Anatomy of a Binge

It’s 9:00 on a Friday night and I’m staying in to study for an upcoming exam. My fiance is out with friends; our apartment is quiet and peaceful. I sit at the kitchen table on my laptop with a stack of textbooks beside me, waiting to be opened.

I start feeling sorry for myself. I wish I was out with friends too, instead of cooped up inside studying. Actually, I wish I wanted to be out with friends, but really, I feel too fat to be seen in public. Without thinking, I walk over to the cabinet and pull out some almonds. “I’ll just have a snack,” I tell myself. But one handful turns into ten, and I decide to just give in. Tomorrow will be different.

I open the fridge and grab the leftovers from dinner, shoveling them into my mouth as I stand over the counter. Back to the fridge for more food. A gallon of yogurt, gone. More almonds. I start unwrapping Luna bars, one after another, hiding the wrappers in the trash as I eat them. Back to the cabinet. Grab the peanut butter and a spoon. Savor spoonful after spoonful until half the jar is gone. Now I need something salty. A handful of chips. A few glasses of chocolate soy milk. More almonds. Another Luna bar. Make sure to hide the wrapper in the trash.

I desperately want to finish off the brownies sitting on the counter, but I worry that my fiance will notice they’re gone. So I just eat one. Then two. Then five. I rearrange them in the container, hoping he won’t notice. Back to the cabinet for more chips and another spoonful of peanut butter. More almonds.
Finally, I can’t breathe anymore. My head feels foggy. I feel angry with myself for not getting any studying done, and for wasting away my twenties in my kitchen binge eating when I should be out dancing on tables and celebrating life. I feel bad about myself for missing out. For making myself fat. For losing control again.

As I lay in bed, stomach distended and grotesquely full, I feel hopeless and lost. I know that I can’t keep doing this to myself, but I can’t seem to stop. I want so desperately to eat normally. To love my body, and treat it with respect by nourishing it instead of shoving it with more food than it can hold.
I finally start to drift off, promising myself that tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow, I’ll change.

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