I have nearly starved myself. I have binged and then self-tormentingly purged (and, repeat). I have just plain binged (and, repeat). I have gone so long without eating that I felt like I could faint. I have eaten so much that I felt like I could literally explode. I have made myself believe I was “allergic” to foods so I wouldn’t eat them, to make it sound okay to those who realized I never, ever touched those foods.
I, for the most part, do not eat because I am hungry or because my stomach is growling. Usually, I eat because I feel empty. Because, basically, I crave to eat as a means to fill myself. Like a self-fulfilling prophecy, I crave to fill myself with the flavor and comfort of all kinds of food. Like an endless emotional desire, I eat. The title ‘I am an emotional eater’, ewww, I really don’t like it. Simply because, dammit, it is what I am. Am I alone? Nah, I know I’m not… I am not the only one who ‘lives to eat’, so to speak.
When you say it all ‘outloud’, it doesn’t make sense; none of this eating disorder stuff make sense. I am the first to admit that. But, it is what it is… and it is, it really is.