Today saw an emergency visit to the dentist. An aggressive wisdom tooth will need to be extracted, and very possibly its wise comrades, too. This will depend on the diagnosis of the oral surgeon to whom I have been referred. Worst case scenario, they all come out under general anesthetic and I’m out of action for a couple of weeks. I’ve been advised that I would be best served to go home to my parents to recuperate as I’d be in want of some nursing and TLC.

What is my main concern with all of this? Not the pain, the price or the inconvenience of it all. No. I am worried about handing my daily diet over to someone else. I get seriously anxious at the idea of being cared for. My mum hasn’t been allowed prepare so much as a cup of tea for me since I was a teenager.

Really, losing control in any aspect of my life terrifies me. I think it is this fear that keeps me single, actually, because it is VERY difficult, if not impossible, to be half of a pair and still remain in total control. But that is another story for another day. I’m already making mental notes of what I can trust to be prepared for me, and on what I could subsist that wouldn’t cause either an immense gaining of weight or feelings of deprivation sufficient to justify an epic binge once I was able to chew again.

Still, with all that recent drama and other more domestic issues (a leaky bathroom that is causing me an untold amount of anxiety) I have managed to keep an unopened pint of Ben and Jerry’s in my freezer since Monday with no real pressing desire to indulge. I do plan on gorging tomorrow night, but am not considering it a binge. I’ve consciously eaten in a more controlled manner all week so that I might actually enjoy the treat. I hope to actually see it as a treat, and so will hopefully be free from guilt as a result.

Enjoy present pleasures in such a way as not to injure future ones.

I am very much a creature of habit, and I tend to crave the comfort of consistency. Nowhere is this as evident as it is with my diet. I have been eating the same breakfast for months, and I adore it…it’s my motivation for getting out of bed in the morning…and it keeps me satisfied until my morning break. I then have a very light morning snack to tide me over ’til lunch. My lunches vary according to the contents of my fridge and what needs to be consumed before it spoils. Then, afternoon break is inevitably a small chocolatey treat (try to keep it within a 100cal range) with a diet coke (yes, I know). An apple when I get home, and then my evenings are when my structure abandons me. I generally try to eat before 7 and so have 12 hours of no eating…I’m not sure why this is so important, although I do know I sleep better when there are a few hours between dinner and bed. Also, when I impose an arbitrary curfew, I’m less likely to spend the night grazing.

My last few days though, have been traumatic. Yesterday, and be prepared this is going to sound ridiculous, was very busy at work, and when I realised that my funsize Maltesers for afternoon break had been stolen from the office fridge I was unreasonably upset. One of the girls was going to the shop and offered to get me a replacement, she returned with a kingsize bag…three times the size of my planned treat. I spent the next torturous few hours debating how many I could/should/would eat.

Of course I ate every last one…but on one condition…that it wouldn’t provoke a downward spiral, that I would eat the rest of my meals as originally planned, and that being a couple of hundred cals over budget was preferable to the thousand that I could very easily excuse by virtue of the day already being ruined because of unplanned excess. And that was exactly what I did. It meant going to bed at nine for fear of breaking my promise to myself, but it’s still a victory, yes?

The weekend is worrying me already, though. I have plans to see friends on Sunday, but tomorrow night and all day Saturday are wide open and I’ve spent this evening wondering what groceries to buy after work to sustain me over the weekend. This is my fourth day of sensible, mindful eating, and I don’t actually think I’ll make it to a fifth. I’m right this moment wondering what kind of ice cream I want tomorrow night…

It was all going well…until it wasn’t. I’m single again, and while it was entirely my doing, it really doesn’t make it any easier to cope with the fear of a lifetime alone. And after a week of reasonable eating without any notable excess, tonight I drowned my sorrows in a pint of ice cream. You know, I didn’t even really want it, though, and only ate it because I figured it was justified given the circumstances and such justification doesn’t come around too often. I bought it yesterday letting it sit in the freezer all night (unthinkable!) because I was too upset to eat. It’s mind boggling that I just said that, truly.

I’ve been generally well behaved since Saturday night…not angelic, but nothing disastrous either. That said, while dramatic binges make me feel almost suicidal with regret and despair, steady overeating throughout the day leaves me rather sad and desolate and constantly craving my next sugar fix.

Speaking of which…I am certain that if I cut out sugar and wheat that a lot of my issues, if not all, would disappear. These substances are addictive, and I am an addict. I read a memoir where the writer was overcoming his food addiction, and I can only apologise for not having the slightest notion as to what it was called or the name of its author, and he said that he kicked cocaine with greater ease than he did sugar.

However, I just cannot imagine a life without now. There was a magical time in my past where I eliminated dairy, wheat and sugar. I felt so incredibly virtuous and really without any craving for that which I’d deemed forbidden. I cannot fathom such an existence now.

I would feel so horribly desperately deprived without my bread in the morning (my breakfast being my motivation to get out of bed), or my chocolate fix for the afternoon break. Darker chocolate has less sugar, say, and so might provide better sustenance than my Maltesers…but it’s a mental craving…I’d feel less satisfied knowing that my choice was more healthful, and I’d then eat the Maltesers as well. And then, knowing that I’d now eaten twice as much as I should, I would reason that I may as well keep going, that today is now ruined anyway, because it’s all or nothing, and if I can’t be perfectly pristine with my daily eats, then I’ll be downright decadent…

I’ve eaten enough today, I won’t do a calorie tally as I’m sure to realise that maybe it was a bit too much, and if I came to that realisation then I’d return to the kitchen, so I’ll just decide right now that it was enough. And now I shall brush my teeth and floss and try and convince myself that enough really is more than enough. That it’s nicer to wake up hungry for breakfast than to go to bed bloated and upset. That tomorrow is another day with plenty more opportunity for food, there being nothing I could have tonight that I couldn’t have in 12, 18, 24, 48 hours time. That the world is not ending, that I am not hungry, that I do not need to eat.

Usually I blame my binges on a bad day, it’s justification enough for me. Don’t ask me how I find comfort and security in a bloated belly…and really, I don’t…I’m left with nothing more than guilt, shame and on notably bad days, a few pounds of excess to remind me of my misadventure. But something in me, almost primal it’s so instinctual, leads me to seek solace in overeating.

Today thought, today was good. I started planning a holiday, I had a few lovely conversations with lovely friends, I went shopping for clothes and was quite fruitful, better yet, I felt thin…not even just not fat, but thin, almost content with my figure. And pretty! It’s practically unheard of for me to think such things. But all week I’d planned on binging tonight, and not leaving the house tomorrow to accommodate this.

And so, tonight, even though I had a great day, and have made some exciting plans for the summer ahead, and was in a good place with myself, I am going to eat myself silly…eat myself sick…and this with the knowledge that when I am finished eating I will feel positively suicidal, and when I wake up in the morning, I will still feel full, and sick, and scared to have breakfast in case I can’t stop eating for the rest of the day.

Why on earth am I doing this to myself?!

“I walked down the hall and saw that [she] was sitting on the floor next to a chair. This is always a bad sign. It’s a slippery slope, and it’s best just to sit in chairs, to eat when hungry, to sleep and rise and work. But we have all been there. Chairs are for people, and you’re not sure if you are one.”

This isn’t my first foray into the world of blogging, I’ve come and go many a time in the past, but when the need for popularity overtook my need for honesty, when self-consciousness limited full disclosure, I retired from writing in a public forum.

How and ever, I am now at a stage where the desire to purge my mind of all that is plaguing it is taking priority over all else. There isn’t a soul in my reality to whom I would be comfortable sharing all that I hope and plan on sharing here. My goal is to seek solace in words and self-expression, as opposed to smothering my emotions with food until I’m too full to care about anything but the ensuing guilt and discomfort.

I want my thoughts to be clear, my eating to be mindful, and my life full. Right now, there is only room for the negative, it has become all-consuming and overshadows any light in my life. It was never going to be easy, but is it supposed to be so hard?

“You have passed the test, it was all just a test, we were only kidding, real life is so much better than that.”