I've been reminiscing of a time in which I had everything in check: I watched all that I ate (probably a little too much), exercised all of the time, was happy, my bills were paid on time, and I socialized just fine. Throw in a traumatic experience, a boyfriend, and crazy-hectic personal situation, and you have me for the past decade. OUT OF CONTROL. And I have to tell you, being out of control is far worse than being too in control.
We're talking astronomical weight gain. It has been eating at me everyday. I went from helping myself to food when I was hungry or when I had to eat in front of others, to eating and obsessing over food all of the time: "What diet will I try?What food am I going to cook for him? If I eat this, I can just work out more. He loves me for me. My body doesn't matter. I won't gain weight. It's only 5 pounds. It's only 25 pounds. I can fix it, I can fix it, I can fix it, I can fix, I MUST fix it, I HAVE to fix it. I can't believe I ate that!"
So what? That happens to everyone, right? In the matter of 10 seconds though? Yeah, 10 seconds. I would go from having planned a separate meal to gorging on brownies. The WHOLE pan! Or a bunch of hamburgers. Yeah, I'd make an excuse to go run to the store to pick something up, hop in a drive-thru lane, order 10 burgers, hoover them down, and have trouble getting rid of it.
I couldn't stop myself! I would be sitting there, shaking in the car, this fire creeping up over me, consuming me, demanding to be fed. Each bite would promise more comfort, more taste, better filling to make the fire die down. And once I was out of burgers, a new burning would take over. I couldn't keep my solution. My stomach would churn, begging for release. The guilt of what I've done, the realization of the consequences would become far too much to bear, and there I was, pushing to make it come up. I would rinse out my mouth, clean up after myself, and go back into the living room where I shared my life with someone for the first time. So afraid he would see I wasn't perfect. That I was terrified of being alone, yet that's all I wanted, was to be alone. When I was alone I was fine. I'd daydream my dramatic life away, picture myself thin, and not think about food (well, not nearly as much). Whenever I'm around him, that's all I would do! Being the man that he was, he was and is always hungry! He can eat and eat and eat and never gain an ounce.
If I hadn't worked out for three hours that day, I'd get squirmy when he touched me, worried that he could feel my abs dissolving in his hands. The more we would be together, and I did want to be around him, the more I ate to ease my thoughts. It would control my nervousness for a little bit, but I would still be hungry later. So I would rinse and repeat.
I miss being alone. If for nothing else, just because I had more control of me, my time, what I did, what I ate, and ultimately, how I looked and felt. No one was there to see flaws. No one got close to my personal space or looked me dead in the eyes to notice a tiny wince, giving everything away that I was smiling and joking to hide.
I'm getting to where I'm avoiding eating in front of him again. Work is a great excuse, true, but as soon as I get home, that wave of binging takes over me. I hate it and want it to go away! I want to be me again. For me! I want the confidence, discipline, and compliments that came from me being as I am, or rather as I was.
I'm not a beautifully thin girl as many expect someone with this way of being to be. I'd love to be that. I'd LOVE to be as my profile pic is. I crave that feeling you get when your stomach caves in from days of doing so good. When your hip bone starts to protrude. That's my gold star and I'm ready to have those again.
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