Bingeing and Accountability

I feel like such a hipster. You know what a hipster is, right? The type of idiot who wears glasses even though their vision is 20/20. The type that wears skinny jeans and drinks Pabst Blue Ribbon while hanging out at Whole Foods and trying to look like they don't care about looking cool. Well, I am not that type of hipster. No, I'm the type that snaps pictures of food and posts it online for the world to see.

 

I am becoming this. Shoot me.

 

It would be less embarrassing if the whole thing weren't documentation of a binge. Or many binges. I told you I was going crazy before the first of January, and I meant what I said. This past couple days, I've gone hog wild in a very literal sense. And pretty much every time I did it, I took a pic using my cell phone. That got old very quick, and it might work out to my advantage. If I have to point my cell phone camera at my plate every time I eat something forbidden, maybe it'll make me think twice about ordering something I shouldn't. That works in public (especially since I always feel like a moron for forgetting to turn the flash off on my camera), but in private, it might not be such a deterrent. Then again, I'll be posting it online. You don't get much more public than that.

 

For instance, here are only a few of the things I've binged on today:

 

 

This is what I ate for breakfast. Note the artificial sweetener I used to sweeten my coffee. Because I like a little irony with my cup o' joe.

 

This is what I had for lunch:

 

 

 

 

And this is what was left just before I got too sick to hoover up the rest:

 

Be happy I didn't include the pic of what ended up in the toilet after my stomach rebelled.

 

That's right. I ate so much, I got sick to my stomach and puked. I am not proud of that fact, trust me. I still feel like crap, both emotionally and physically. That's the worst part about a binge. Your body craves this crap like crazy to the point that it's all that you think about. And when you finally give into the cravings, that same body that was begging for that sweet hit of extra cheese and pepperoni reminds you just how bad an idea giving into that craving was. I not only feel like a greasy slug, I'm ashamed to look in the mirror because of it. I can feel my ass widening even as I type this, and I know I'm going to have trouble fitting into my jeans. But tonight, I'll do it all over again and I'll still be craving pizza tomorrow. Because that's how addiction works. You know you're killing yourself, but part of you just doesn't care.

 

That's what bothers me the most. Not caring and wondering why I don't care. I'm hoping this blog will answer that question. I don't want it just be about shaming me into being a good little dieter. I want to find the root of my problem and, if not fix it, at least learn to manage it.

 

Here's for hoping.