Coming Down from the High of a Binge

this is what it feels like when you’re coming down from the binge-high. sent to a loved one.

i got that twitch. not that twitch in my eye that makes us laugh, but that twitch that if i don’t move, distract myself, give myself a fear-filled pleasure, i’ll crack, implode or worse…feel how sad and scared i feel.

so i ate the rest of the vegan bars. sure, it was just a small row at the end of the pan, but i intended on eating that and letting it turn into a full binge. i thought of all the other things i would eat. free pass for whatever floats your boat if you’re going to get rid of it anyway!

i told myself that i was allowed a relapse and it would be okay if i purged.

what’s one relapse? it’s a small price to pay for eating everything i want without moderation, until i feel sick. and then? well, it’s a clean slate. esophageal damage, perhaps a burst eye vein – meh! those are little casualties to lose the calories. to lose the risk of weight gain.

i didn’t eat anything but the bars.

i didn’t purge.

somewhere inside of me a voice broke up the party of raging binge-aholics.

so now i have to deal with the guilt that comes along with a binge that lacks its compensatory purge. sure, it was a baby binge. others could eat a small row of treats and consider it dessert. but for me – it was a binge. i had the anxiety and heart-racing that comes when you anticipate a binge, when you’re gearing to eat everything you can and hardly taste it.

i can only imagine that was 1500 excess calories to my already 2k today. not to mention i have been carrying around a calculation of about 2k calories straggling from adding days and days of little bits extra here and there. it all adds up and is this figurative (and literal) weight that i carry. once a calorie counter striving to be an anti-calorie-counter. but just because we don’t believe that we should do something doesn’t mean we don’t believe it has some utility. even if we have read, and know, that it’s futile in the long run. we can still somehow think that this time, yes, this time and moment, it matters.

becoming a spokesperson for whatever the hell i’m a spokesperson for has put a lot of pressure on me. that and seeing and using the word “obesity” over and over again fills me with heartache. i feel sometimes like the world is obsessed with a problem that it has created only to push pills down our throats and to keep the power where it lays. we build up a panic, call it a disease, and then blame the individual to death so that we forget to question larger outside forces. then there’s all the reading i do about “obesity” and all the personal observances i have about how fat people are treated (while also recognizing my own bias and prejudice towards a group i once belonged to by sight – and still feel allegiance to by sentiment). it makes me sick. and sad. and worried.

seeing myself in that video, noticeably more plump, i wonder how soon it will be that i’m my old 280-lb self again. the chick who was in pain. is she any different than this person who types to you?

…though i’m also relieved…i truly did think that when i watched that video i was going to find myself shocked and staring at my old self back in the flesh. but, no, she’s not 19. and she’s not 280 pounds. she’s 28 and whatever-i’m-not-weighing-myself. same lisp. same crooked smile.

the truth is that i have watched my life transform parallel to my physical transformation and i can’t help but associate being fat with having no amazing boyfriend and no job that gives me influence and an outlet for my passion. now thinner – i have those things. and more. i feel guilty and scared for having those things. i know these things are not solely attributable to my weight loss. i have a master’s. i’m sweet. blah blah blah. why does everything i stand for and everything i am pale in comparison, in my head, to what i look like? to what i think i should look like. to what i think i should look like to not feel so vulnerable. what would that look like anyway? there’s no such thing, I know.

i know i’m in the slump that comes once a tornado has washed over you. and tomorrow when i wake up and remember that i am strong and awesomely skeptical, i’ll read this and feel bad for the girl who couldn’t just eat those damn treats without guilt. who couldn’t actually feel pride for eating what she wanted, tasting its decadence and not purging. why can’t i eat without judgment, without all of this “who am i” existential melodrama?

ahh. the melodrama. it’s the stuff of great songs. it’s a good thing i’m a singer, eh? Adele’s got break-up songs and i’ve got songs on recovery.