Saturday, June 16, 2012


Yesterday my parents came home with half a cake. It was left over from my brother’s birthday celebration, and it was a large chocolate cake with peanut butter and chocolate icing.
Of course, since my Dad is a sugar addict, he started talking about the cake like it’s his child, and all I could do is glare at him while my mouth watered.
Mom opened the cake box and she presented it to me, with the tantalizing peanut butter icing rolling in waves down a rich chocolaty cake. Then she asked if I want to be excused.
Of course I couldn’t be excused! There was no way, after I heard that there was cake in the house, that I could resist, especially yesterday, when I’d already not been doing well with behaviors. As soon as I saw it I wanted some. I NEEDED some. I knew that I would throw it up, and I knew that I shouldn’t have a piece, since I’d been binging all day, but it’s so easy to fall quickly and so hard to stop yourself from falling. My mother served me right away, and I scarfed down my piece before my mind even had a chance to tear itself away from the thought of the flavors waterfalling into my stomach.
Ten minutes later, as I stood over the toilet retching, I was more angry than I’ve been in a long time. My mom knows that I don’t do well with desserts, and she knows that I asked her to remove most of the desserts from the house. And yet she STILL brought home that delicious devil. I felt betrayed, sabotaged, and like I was alone in my universe.
The fact is, even if my parents hadn’t brought home that cake, I was still not doing well with behaviors. Yes, they made it worse, but I’m doing bad enough on my own.  Is it fair to expect them to know not to let me know that there is dessert in the house? Is it fair to expect them to stop caring about it, to help me stop caring about it? Is it fair to hold them responsible for my purge? 

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