What's For Dinner, Danny?

I'm cleaning up the remanence of my brother's birthday party. There's cake on the walls. There's almost nothing more in the world that I want right now but to lick that icing off the wall. I know it's disgusting. I know it's unclean...and that was before COVID. The hunger crawls through my veins, moving from a snail pace upward, my stomach boiling. I know it's my fault that I've let my hunger snowball out of control. My iron will to not eat during the day makes me tired. Why do I not want to eat? Besides risking a stomach upset at work, which I have due to stress some days anyway, I don't want other people to see me eating. I'm ashamed. I know that I have to eat to stay alive, I just wish that I didn't have to. It's more than just risking an upset stomach at work. I get to use that as an excuse. Who would have thought that my tummy troubles would be the perfect excuse? That aside, I've probably made the issue worse with my disastrous eating habits. I stare at the pizza grease for the longest time, imagine myself licking the gooey cheese falling off the slice of pizza. No. No. No. I must not. I need to regain control. I need to refocus all of my energy. I need to clean this up. I can't put anything in me. I'm so tired. So hungry. The drugs that I'd pumped into me earlier make me slow and out of it. My breathing slows to normal after I've cut up the party pizza box and thrown it away. Part of me wants to dive into the bin and pull the cardboard out. No, you are not an animal. Focus. I feel like I can't talk to anyone about this. I've touched on the subject before but to actually sit down and talk about my reasons, I can't. I know why I do it. The key is learning behaviours and tools to help me stop doing it. I'm doing what I can to try and stay focused on a balanced diet and not lose control like I have before and start vomiting up everything that I eat or restricting for days at a time. Logically, I know that it's hurting me, possibly even may kill me, but I just keep going with it. No one would know that I struggle with this if you looked at me from the outside. I sometimes keep things to remind me of my sadness. I know it's the worst possible thing. It's a sort of perverse justification for the way that I'm feeling. Somehow I feel the need to justify to myself and sometimes others why I feel sad and miserable. Sometimes I feel like telling them I'm in a mood swing or somethings set me off is a copout. I need to know that it was real. Memories have slipped away from me. And some people will tell you that depression is an excuse to not do things or that it doesn't impact memory. I wish I could believe in that sort of delusional thinking, but as sick as I can be at times, I don't lose touch with reality. There have been times where I've come unglued, but in the back of my mind, there's a voice reminding me of what is real and what is not. Sometimes I choose to ignore it. Or the rush of what I'm going feels so good, that I can't focus in on it, but I know it's there. Seperating myself mind and body helps sometimes. I feel disgusting. I hate looking at my body. I wish I had a different body. I'm sick of hearing "If you recover you'll love yourself!" Sometimes people just don't get better, okay? I've been this way my entire life and nothings changed. Not with all the different therapies, treatments and medications. I think I should just stop going. I don't deserve the help if there's no reason for me to get better. I've not met any therapy goals. If anything, I feel worse than I did a few years ago. I've let two more years abuse the shit out of me. I should have just ended things a long time away. I wish I died following my first suicide attempt. I don't care that I would have missed out on everything. What am I really missing out on? It feels so good when I'm hunched over and I'm vomiting everything out of me. It feels like I'm cleansing myself of everything that I've done wrong. All my failures. I need some sort of way to get things under control. It's not just about weight and appearences with me. I am well aware of my size, that I am fat. I hate it. I do everything that I can to keep it under control. Why else would I starve myself? Why else would I not want to eat in public? When I have to, I'm nervous as hell. I don't want anyone to watch me eat. I feel like I don't deserve it. I feel their eyes washing over my frame and the whispers that follow don't fall on deaf ears. No one listens to me when I let some of it out. People are tired of me being sick and I guess I don't really blame them.