I pull on my gut and think about what it is to be fat and wonder why I have slid into this abyss. First I think it is because I hurt my back and couldn't really do anything for a while. That doesn't cut it because I wasn't really doing anything before it happened. Than I find myself laying my lard on the depression I have fallen into after selling the restaurant and the failure of the DC restaurant gig to work out, and I suppose that one does work in some ways. I do have a big streak of snacking like crazy when I'm feeling down, but I usually pull myself out in time. After those two, I usually walk the wild side with my secret plot to use my loss of girth as a catalyst for writing a book on losing it and in that I always think that I should be at my closest point to popping before starting the project. Or maybe I'm just made to be the portly king.
What it really comes down to and that I have never admitted to anyone is that I have a real live and true eating disorder. I gorge on snacks for no reason. Maybe I'm thinking that it will ease the pain of having to listen to the dogs barking in my head, but it doesn't. All it leads to is more self-loathing and more eating. I used to pull my own trigger in order to get the food out, but I don't even do that anymore. It hurt my throat too much and just seemed like a really bad idea. Now I just take it in and consume, consume, consume... More later if I can stomach this topic any more.
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