Airing Out The Laundry...

There are 5 more weeks left in the semester.  I'm losing steam.  Here I sit, writing for enjoyment when I should be reading my Gender and Society textbook.  A mere 2 chapters left and I will have worked through the entire book.  What a good feeling that is!  Apparently it's not a good enough feeling to sit down and read through them, though! 

What I'd really rather be doing is napping.  Or eating.  I've been struggling with my eating as of late and it's taking it's toll on me and my weight.  It's compulsive.  I don't want to binge...I tell myself to stop while I'm doing it.  I feel powerless, though.  I stand in the kitchen, eating whatever I can put together while calling myself names and doing the whole 'negative self talk' gig.  It's disgusting.  And sad.  It's not a matter of willpower, it's more a matter of...well...I don't really know.  It's just this thing I do and I feel horrible while doing it.   

This is the second time I've written publicly about it.  I wrote a monologue for a course last Spring.  I was encouraged to perform it.  Do a 'one woman show' sort of deal.  It's always in the back of my mind.  Writing it was so cathartic...but I only showed it to a select group of individuals.  My professor, a couple of classmates...and I read a short bit to my whole class.  D mentioned it the other day.  Said I should reconsider getting it published/performed.  I dunno...it's so private.  Maybe, though, that is the boost I need.  Taking the private into the public might help begin my journey of healing. 

Another thing that would help the healing and maybe help me stop the binges...discussing this in therapy.  I feel such immense shame while I'm binging and even refuse to discuss it with my closest confidant, D.  I wonder sometimes if she knows the extent of my issues.  Something tells me she does.  She just *knows* me like that.  My therapist doesn't know, though.  It's my dirty little secret.  I think I'm afraid to mention it.  Mostly because I know this is probably an eating disorder.  No, not probably.  It is an eating disorder. 

Wow.  Where the hell did that all come from?  I considered erasing it.  Writing on something lighter...but, instead, I've left it where it is.  Staring me down.  Taunting me.  Tempting me into the kitchen because I feel vulnerable and that is one of my triggers.  I'm trying to resist.  God.  It's so hard.