Anatomy of a binge
I’m not exactly sure what to do with this post, how long it may stay active, or if I will even publish it at all. For now, I’ll write in an attempt to be honest and to explore all elements of my relationship to food. But, I will type it with the bulk of the text beneath the cut.
As with all binges, it was a combination of factors which led me there. The 9/11 memorials yesterday, during which I foolishly decided to watch CNN’s original 2001 coverage and relive the event. The upcoming wedding of a friend of mine, for which I am the coordinator, carries with it the monumental task of emotional management for all involved parties. Strain at work involves not only the standard emotional fare, but now a huge change in caseload, responsibilities, and even location. The new dog (a foster pup that I have picked up as a favor to an old friend… who was supposed to be with me temporarily and may in fact be permanent) is making me crazy with eating the mail, shredding the curtains, and now peeing in his crate. Then, the reality-checks in my own head: that I cannot be a good friend to everyone right now. That I cannot pay my bills. That I do not meet deadlines at work. P.S. things are progressing romantically with JV, the Record Store Romeo. More on that later, as I can scarcely even approach the topic in my own head tonight.
It’s really the dog thing that sent me over the edge tonight. I can’t take the thought of providing anything less than a perfect existence for these loyal little creatures… and I know that I’m projecting on them. Poor Milo, being shoved out of the way for the new baby. Poor Romeo, with his history of neglect and abandonment. It all plays out in my head as good mommy/bad mommy and gets over-personalized. I’m trying to stop doing that. I really am.
So, at the apex of it all, I ended up crawling into the car with binge on the agenda. There was some waffling back and forth there at the end. “Is there any fast food that I can get which would be remotely healthy?” No, there wasn’t. Not within distance. “Maybe I can just go home and eat something there.” But, of course, I had already laid out a healthy meal at home, and I knew I didn’t want it. What I wanted was to feel better — to numb everything away. To experience sugar’s temporary restorative powers. To eat until I felt sick.
From Taco Bell: Mexican Pizza, 2 supreme tacos, steak quesadilla, large pink lemonade.
From McDonald’s: Big Mac meal with large fries and large orange drink, strawberry sundae, chocolate chip cookies, and milk.
The worst part?
I ate and ate and never got sick. I started gulping down quesadilla as I pulled away from Taco Bell and had it nearly inhaled by the time I started ordering at McDonald’s less than one block away. I was pushing cheese and tortilla into my face when I pulled up to the next window. I chugged, chomped, swallowed, and gakked. I felt like a dog or a lion, gulping down food without tasting it. I shoved and dumped and choked and made sure that the food didn’t even touch my tongue. It didn’t matter what I was eating or how it tasted. What mattered was that I push it past the gag reflex as quickly as possible. What mattered was that it become invisible, that it be buried inside of me, and that the evidence be destroyed.
I truly cannot imagine typing all of this into the Points Tracker. Maybe for now I will just decide that all of my extra points for the week are gone, and attempt to stay on track that way, more or less, until the weekend. I will look myself in the mirror and tell myself, over and over, that this is not the end of the world. That the process is not black and white. That I don’t need to give up or give in or give over just for one bad night.