I’ve been meaning to write about this for ages, but didn’t have the words. I still don’t, really, but I’m going to see how this goes. . .
So, binging, why do I do it?
It makes me feel ashamed, disgusting, vile, fat, worthless. . . pretty horrible things to feel, and yet the cycle continues again, and again, and again. . .
I’ve been asked why binging makes me feel this way. Honestly? I’m not sure. It just does. I don’t know whether it’s my issue, or the way society views gluttony, or the image of my mother’s face when I, as a child, would eat more than I ‘should have done’.
I went to an all girls school. Diet’s were something that everyone did. Those who stuck at them, ate very little and shed weight quickly were admired, spoken highly of. Those who gorged on chocolate from the vending machine or chips from the canteen were smirked at. That was not a desirable way to be.
So I hide my binges. Which is probably one of the most detrimental things I could do in terms of my recovery. If no one knows, no one challenges, no one thinks I’m as disgusting as I think I am, and the binges can continue under a cloak of denial.
I used to think that if I could stop binging I could stop vomiting. I don’t believe that any more. Whilst binging has been something I’ve struggled with for longer than my eating disorder (I remember binging as young as 8 when my mother discovered chocolate wrappers stuffed into my cupboard. The look of disgust on her face hangs over me to this day. I felt so humiliated and ashamed), it has only really become uncontrollable since I became able (and very good at) purging. If I lost the ability to vomit, I’m fairly confident that the binging would, at best, stop or, at worst, significantly decrease.
For years now my days have been a constant cycle of wake, starve, eat, binge, purge, binge, purge, binge, purge, sleep. I’m exhausted and I’ve had enough.