It wasn’t intentional, but while I was binging I decided that I had to throw up. I missed the sore feeling in my throat. I missed the safety I felt after doing it. I miss being in the world I created, where its just me and the binging and the scarred knuckles. Where nothing can get me down, my eating disorder and I together on top and nothing can reach us as long as we have each other. Like lovers, and this time I’m not sure if I want to leave this relationship.
I binged on mini caramel swiss rolls, nuttella, chocolate mousse, custard slices and mcflurry’s. The beginnings of these episodes are always glorious! The rush and excitement, when the sugar settles in your mouth and its like a high. But the middles and ends are crushing.
The conviction, post binge, that you are the most disgusting, worthless creature on Earth is total, as consuming a psychic pain as I have ever experienced. Yet, time after time, the emotional fallout from bingeing proves so excruciating that I vow to never, never, do it again. The sad part is that I know I will. Every time I start a binge lately, I think to myself that it is no big deal as I am going to Israel and I will get better when I am there. There will be no junk to buy and constantly hoard.I rightfully know that this is a blatant lie. Recovery happens now, right now.