Even though I’ve stopped counting calories, I can’t bear the idea of gaining weight. Gaining weight means that I’ve failed. I’ve failed at controlling myself and I’ve failed at looking the way I want to look. I suppose this is partly true, because usually whenever I gain weight, it’s from a binge. Recently, I binged over the course of one day. I was stuffed the entire day, but I made myself keep it all down because I didn’t want to feel the shame of throwing up after I’d been so good.
However, it did have consequences: later that day and the next morning, when I got on the scale the number was up two or three pounds. Immediately I felt like crying, and of course I had the urge to eat and eat and eat and throw up and not care.
When I see how quickly I can gain weight, I start believing that if I let myself eat whatever I want, I’ll balloon. I know that it’s quite possible for me to become obese. And I know that being around the food at my house could make me obese. Thus, I go too far in the other direction.
I know from experience now that eating whatever I want will not necessarily make me gain weight. If I can just stop when I’m full, I’ll probably lose a little bit of the extra stuff I put on from binging. However, thinking about the fact that I may have to accept myself as being a little heavier does not sit well with me.
It really comes down to: Would you rather be dead than be fat?
For me the answer is to be dead.
I’m getting treatment so I won’t have to be either.