Responding to "This is My Confession"

"Most people with binge eating disorder have tried to control it on their own, but have not been able to control it for very long. Some people miss work, school, or social activities to binge eat. Persons who are obese with binge eating disorder often feel bad about themselves and may avoid social gatherings.

Most people who binge eat, whether they are obese or not, feel ashamed and try to hide their problem. Often they become so good at hiding it that even close friends and family members don't know they binge eat."

This is me. This is me this is me this is me. Aggh, this is who I am, and not who I have become. This is the old me, the one that was fat and miserable and upset all the time. The one who smoked and cussed and laughed too loud. The one that would sit crying on her couch and plan entire weekends around food and not let anyone else in. The one that slowly tried to kill herself.

While I was in San Diego, I was so triggered by my old haunts. My best friends in San Diego are places to eat-- Del Taco, Carl's Jr., Fidels, El Indio, Baja Fresh, Der Wienerschnitzel, Rubios, The Brig, El Pollo Loco, In-N-Out-- because you can't get any of that here in NYC. Nope, nary a one can you get here-- and pulling through the drive-thru is like visiting an old friend-- "hi, I'll have a number 2 with a strawberry shake please, and a side of ranch dressing". It's just like saying "hello, I've missed you, we have so much catching up to do." Pulling through the drive thru and taking that first bite of whatever, well, that is the ritual. Out of the bag, maybe if the light is green I'll just steal a fry or a ring-- take a sip-- in anticipation for the main event.

I would drive a ways away to get exactly what it is I needed for the binge. 30 miles to Vista for chili cheese dogs and fries, 15 miles to Mira Mar for a chicken cheese burrito, 17.3 miles for an In-and-Out Burger near the 15. Plus fried happiness on the side, whatever desserty thing was available and the biggest full sugar drink possible. I might even get a candy bar if I had run out of smokes and had to stop on my way. And I would plan my view. After going through the drive thru, the event would begin-- searching for the right place to eat this food. A good view. Usually I would head back to the ocean or up to Soledad Mountain. I sit in the car facing the vast emptiness of what was in front of me and begin the meal. The first bite of burger, pickle popping and the melty cheese goodness, grease dripping down my chin. Chew chew, swallow. Then four or five french fries all together, dipped in the ranch-- chew chew swallow. Then burger, then fries, then burger dipped in dressing, then bite of apple pie/dessert/ice cream, then swallow of drink then again, and repeat and repeat and repeat.

10 minutes later I was done. Grease on chin, napkins wadded on the seat next to me, cigarette in hand, lighter in the other. And think. Think about the beautiful view (not as good as those chili cheese fries) think about what's next (chicken soft taco?) think about what's going on tonight (doesn't matter, I messed up and I don't deserve to go. No one likes you anyways.). Sit and smoke and think. Why am I here, what am I doing this for?

All those demons-- every one would rear their head. Conversations from six years ago, conversations from my childhood, overhead conversations with the doctor about my weight, visions of aunts and grammas and mom having "tastes" of dinner, finding chocolate Helen Grace eggs under mom's front seat and eat that as a kid, sneaking chocolate cake mix and mixing it with water to make pudding, getting caught eating all the butterscotch chips out of the cupboard, eating all the candy out of my cousin's easter baskets, drinking Alba 80 shakes for breakfast, thinking about that boy who really loved you but didn't know how, listening to the voice inside my head say over and over again-- it's not enough, is that all there is, what are you doing, can't someone really hear me.

Radio silence. Radio silence. Like two seashells up to my ears, almost like static. My belly extends. I burp, take a sip of soda, and burp again. What to think, nothing to think. Stop thinking. Ahh, the view is so pretty. Thank you God for giving me this view to share with you.

In this moment I am satisfied. I am glowing in the post-coital moments I have just spent with my food. Time stopped and went too fast and stopped again, and then without knowing, the bags of trash are under the front seat and I am off to rehearsal, work, school, home. I am off to nap, to nod off, to deal with my day. I'm off because now I have a handle on the situation, I had a moment to think.

In San Diego this past time, I had an opportunity to do this, and I didn't. I couldn't. I can't do the fast food. I am not allowed. It triggers something so deep in me. I made dinner and breakfast for D and myself. We ate good food made with love. We talked about loving ourselves. Nothing is easy. Everything is hard. Hard, hard hard. But that is life.

The reward of life is so sweet. I feel like I am living it in moments and in daydreams. I wake up feeling lighter than before, my arms feel small, my eyes look huge. Hy hunger is for something greater than food. It always has been. I haven't identified the source of the hunger, but it is not satisfied with the ritual of eating. Binge eating. It's impossible for me, and yet I know how to wiggle around the food.

I am calling it my search for the hunger. Something needs to be fed-- I think it's my soul. Connect with the outside world, really connect with another human being. Love fiercely. Take stock in who you are and what you love. Express more. Emote less. And perhaps be vulnerable when you need help.