I’m an addict. I lie about my addiction to others and I make promise after promise that I will stop. I want to stop so desperately that each time I come down from a high, I say it will be my last. But, I can’t and it isn’t. I have the tools I need and I know what I have to do. There’s just something inside me that stops me even though I know I am addicted and that I will die if I can’t kick this, but it pulls me, it calls me. I want that feeling of euphoria, that feeling of being high, happy, and numb.
I’m addicted to food. It gives me intense pleasure to binge and stuff in that moment until I come down from the high. At that point, I suffer from feelings of regret, guilt, and physical illness. I swear, as I come down from the high, that I will never binge again, that I am done feeling ill. That is until I binge again. Even though I don’t want to. Even though I know I shouldn’t. Even though I promised myself I wouldn’t. Now I understand why a recovering alcoholic can’t have even one drink. True recovering alcoholics must practice abstinence. Recovering drug addicts can’t smoke a joint every now or then. I can see how completely refraining from the drug of choice is necessary.
But, I have to eat. Every day, multiple times a day. To survive. But, also to survive, I must stop bingeing. Logically, I know it is possible to overcome this, as so many other addicts have, but sometimes the feeling to binge is so strong and I feel so out of control, I feel like I never will.
I know there are negative consequences to my addiction. I am fully aware of how bingeing negatively affects me. Physically, after a binge, I feel bloated, fatter than usual, I get a headache and heartburn, and I am in so much pain from the inflammation in my body. Sometimes, my heart begins to race, which only triggers any anxiety that I’ve been stuffing down. There have been times I have binged so much that I feel the food coming back up my throat and regurgitating in my mouth. The short term physical feelings after a binge are bad, but, arguably, the long term physical effects are worse. Bingeing puts me at risk for diabetes, hypertension, high cholesterol, heart disease, shortness of breath, varicose veins, obesity, and other physical and mental disorders, some of which I already have. Emotionally, bingeing makes me feel shame, embarrassment, guilt, insecurity, and a sense of hopelessness and being out of control. I want to stop, but I can’t. I can be completely full having just eaten, but still I get off of the couch and walk to my refrigerator.
I tell myself I am not hungry and that I should just go for a walk instead of eat again or maybe even journal about the feelings I am trying to avoid by bingeing. But even though that awareness is there, I can’t prevent the binge that is inevitably going to overtake me in that moment. I reach for the olives, the feta cheese, the onion dip, and the cheese before I shut the refrigerator door and head to the closet where I grab a bag of unopened potato chips, a half-eaten bag of tortilla chips, and a small bag of pretzels. Then, I snatch a handful of chocolate kisses from the drawer for “dessert.” I don’t bother with plates or bowls; I just eat everything from its original bag or container. I sit back down on the couch, resume watching my game shows, and begin to devour each and every item stacked up next to me until every ounce of the food is gone. Several times throughout the binge, I am moved to stop, seal up all the food, and put it all away, maybe even throw it all away. I know the temporary high I will get from the binge is only going to result in more physical and psychological damage, but my arms are robotically grabbing fistfuls of food and shoving it into my mouth. It’s almost as if I am outside of my body watching a stranger shovel food into my mouth against my will. I want to stop, but I have no control over my body. God, please make it stop.
I eat until I can physically no longer fit anymore food into my body. My stomach is bulging, so I unbuckle my pants. I feel so full that I have trouble breathing. The heartburn is almost instant and the pressure in my chest makes me believe I am actually having a heart attack this time. I can’t believe I did it again. Why did I do this to myself? The guilt strikes and as I look at all the empty bags and containers around me, I feel like a fat pig. I have easily just consumed over 2,000 calories in about twenty minutes and I had already eaten lunch. I could have stopped when I realized what I was doing. I could have prevented the binge when I was walking to the fridge. Why didn’t I? Why can’t I control myself? I am such a waste of life, a disgusting human being with my rolls of fat spilling out onto the couch. I am worthless. I will be fat for the rest of my life. I grab one last piece of chocolate.
In the middle of a binge, I feel intoxicated, almost like a sense of euphoria. I am giddy with excitement looking at the variety and abundance of food displayed before me. No one is here to catch me. Look how stealthy I am, how good I am at hiding it. No one will ever know just how disgusting I am. I’m so good at this. I forget about the pain or anxiety I was feeling before the binge. I revel in the joy of self-medicating and numbing the uncomfortable feelings. I am high in the moment and it feels so good to temporarily escape the panic, the worry, and the pain. I am not thinking about how the food is just masking everything, putting all those feelings on hold until the they are exacerbated once the binge is over and compounded with additional feelings of guilt, shame, and a sense of worthlessness. Nothing else matters in that moment but the thrill of eating, in secret, despite the damage I know it’s doing to me. That is binge eating disorder. It is not the same as having a large piece of cake after dinner, overeating at a party, indulging in fried, fatty foods, or even turning to comfort foods as an emotional eater. I can’t just stop or get back on track tomorrow or just go on another diet or do a juice cleanse or fast. That’s not how this works.
Every year or so, I reach a point where I recommit to getting healthy and losing weight. And each time I start over, a wave of embarrassment overpowers me. I can’t announce this new diet on social media again. I can’t tell people I’m attempting to lose weight again. They’ll just roll their eyes as they scroll past the fat girl’s post that is simply a reminder of her repeated failures. But this time, I didn’t start a new weight loss program and I already put in a return request for the new weight loss supplement I bought before I even received it in the mail. This time, I joined a class on how to overcome binge eating with a licensed psychotherapist. This time, it’s not about losing weight just to gain it all back again. It’s about overcoming an eating disorder so that I can live a healthy, active life. It’s not about losing the weight; it’s about overcoming the disorder. It’s about allowing the feelings to surface and processing them instead of trying to escape them. It’s about feeling the feeling. It’s about learning to love myself and accepting myself and my body regardless of its size or shape. It’s about looking at myself in the mirror and instead of feeling disgust, feeling gratitude for a body that has protected me and kept me alive for the past 45 years.
I am enough.
Overweight, Anxious, and Done 