When I Binge
Saturday, October 01, 2011
When I binge I get tired walking up the stairs to my bedroom.
I dress quickly without looking down at my stomach.
I brush my teeth and wash my face, figuring "at least I can do that".
I get under the covers, convince myself tomorrow will be better.
I close my eyes, remind myself of all the times I've proved it won't be.
I wake up, blissfully unaware,
then I remember. I weaken. I berate. I deflate.
I try to find something to wear to cover the mistakes of last night.
Usually black. Mourning the loss of a promising day.
Knowing nothing will taste as good, nothing will feel as good.
Defeated before I begin.
My morning coffee loses its comfort.
My first meal makes my stomach turn.
The angry voice telling me "you'll fail" is too tired to form the words.
Disappointed in me I guess, for making it too easy.
For proving it right.
When I binge I lose my light.
I don't enjoy my time with people who
in other circumstances
make me smile, laugh out loud, feel alive.