I’m well off the wagon. I told my sponsor I fell off and the wagon is currently picking up passengers in a different time zone.
I’m a size bigger, my face looks wider, my chin can now add a plus one to its invites.
I’m not fucking happy.
My mother – the one with the eating disorder/s – told me she found a therapist for me that specializes in eating disorders. I told her to leave me alone – check the mirror and then we’ll get back to this.
This is not an “eating disorder.” This is a goddamn addiction.
I’m behaving like a fucking addict. I’m manipulative, I lie, I deny; I speak in generalities, technicalities, and seethe when I can’t get my fucking drug (usually in the form of a dessert or empty carb).
I lied last week to get an extra slice of applewood smoked bacon at breakfast. One piece. Was it enough? No. Did I feel satisfied? No. Did I continue eating more food anyway? Yes.
I am trying to fill a void somewhere in me, yet I fail to understand what’s still missing. The only void I’m currently filling is the space between my nose and my chin/s.
I stopped logging my food, stopped sending it to my sponsor. I fell off and since then, I feel disgusted at what I’m eating – why would I want to face accountability for that? In the face of all the feelings and thoughts I’m experiencing, relying on my higher power may be the only choice I have left.
Maybe this is my rock bottom. When I’ve lost so much control that I have no choice but to
surrender let go give up.