What to Do When You Want to Eat All the Things

I just had to walk away from my desk. I had to physically remove myself from the environment where I store my snacks because I was in real danger of eating all of them.

It's been awhile since I've felt the urge to binge eat in the middle of the day (binge in broad daylight?! How uncouth!), but it's not an altogether unfamiliar experience.

On a recent trip to Target, I saw a t-shirt that read, "BINGE, SLEEP, REPEAT." I believe it was Netflix that introduced "binge" into the popular lexicon, and I have to assume that the shirt was using the term in the movie-watching sense. Because as popular and socially acceptable binge watching has become, eating disorders remain cloaked in secrecy and shame. But ironically enough, "Binge, Sleep, Repeat" was a pretty apt description of my existence at one point in my life, although I added an extra step between binge and sleep. And I certainly wouldn't have advertised that via commercially made apparel.

Self-induced vomiting just doesn't have the kind of Millennial charm that my generation has managed to ascribe to the combination of introversion, consumerism and laziness that binge-watching encompasses.

My eating disorder started when I was 14 or 15, and peaked somewhere between my first semester of college and falling in love for the first time. It's taken different forms over the years: calorie restriction and over-exercise (though not as extreme as you've seen on Lifetime), binging and purging (just as extreme and weird and gross as the Lifetime movies), a combination of the two, abstinence from eating disordered behavior in favor of alcohol and drug abuse, a combination of restriction, binging, purging, alcoholism and drug abuse, and lastly, gratefully, periods of what sort of resembles "recovery."

I use the term lightly because I don't know that I've ever felt fully recovered from my eating disorder. Even when I'm not engaging in behaviors, there has always been at least some degree of lingering obsession (what will I eat, how many calories are in this, if I eat the donut now will I be able to not eat the brownie tonight, how many miles do I need to run to eat both, etc). There is always at least the threat of compulsiveness to my eating and my appetite.

I consistently overeat, which I define as eating past the point or in the absence of true hunger, but I'm fairly certain this is typical (if not normal) behavior.

I feel guilty if I don't exercise frequently or intensely "enough."

I get anxious about eating at restaurants, where portion size and calories are out of my control, and when food is presented outside of my planned schedule.

I like to save my calories for the end of the day, so I can eat a lot at the end of the day. It's a practice that might be considered delayed gratification, except it has a tinge of the pathological.

I use food to numb my feelings and silence my thoughts. It's a reward at the end of the day, an indulgence in reckless abandon that feels amazing and justifiable when so much of my energy is spent trying to be good, to be perfect, to be in control.

Most days, I manage to eat "normally." I've learned to mostly ignore the urges to binge as well as the voices that tell me I'm fat and shameful and weak-willed. I let myself eat, and I know how to sit with the discomfort of overeating. I forgive myself for not working out every day, or for having the donut AND the brownie. I move on.

But sometimes it sneaks up on me. It starts with a preoccupation with my appearance, or a change in my routine, or a stressful week at work. This time it started with a visit to the doctor. The nurse weighed me and, not realizing why I stood facing away from the scale, read the number out loud. I don't weigh myself because it makes me crazy.

Or maybe it was that I skipped breakfast in some ill-advised (read: self-advised) attempt to restrict my eating to 8-hour windows because I read an article that said it will make my body burn fat more efficiently. It also makes my mood in the mornings somewhat...volatile. Go figure. Hell hath no fury like a woman deprived of food.

Possibly, too, it was the cumulative effect that working in an open environment has wrought on my mental health. Somehow bearing witness to my coworkers' habits, particularly their eating habits, has made me hyper sensitive to my own eating habits. I'm someone who snacks during the day, and occasionally eats lunch (sometimes breakfast) at my desk. Without walls to create at least the illusion of privacy, I feel exposed and anxious any time I attempt to eat at my desk. Normal people would either A. change their habits and eat elsewhere or B. not be so self-conscious in the first place. I, on the other hand, just set my anxieties to simmer and stew in them until I become so agitated that I act out in some way.

So yeah, maybe that's what happened. I let a number get into my head, tempted fate by restricting food, and then the presence of a coworker as I ate my lunch made me lose. my damn. mind. And the only solution my brain could fathom was to eat! Eat the popcorn! Eat the chocolate! Eat the strawberries! Eat until the inside screaming stops!

Luckily, I caught myself in time to intervene. I grabbed my laptop and water bottle, sat in another, less claustrophobic area, and documented my meltdown here. Was it helpful? To me, yes. To you, not likely, unless you, too, have an eating disorder. In which case I recommend headphones, hydration, a blog and/or a good therapist - and I send you sincere wishes for your own inside screaming to subside.

One Week Later: Lessons from a Former Social Media Addict (Who Has Already Relapsed)

I'm back on social media.

I didn't learn anything from my week-long sabbatical, except that I don't miss Facebook when it's not in my life. But I do miss Instagram - as a distraction, yes, but even more so as a quick, easy and creative way to share my thoughts, feelings and moods. Why I feel this is necessary is beyond me. Perhaps it's simply the result of living in a world where social media is a thing. Perhaps if this were 20 years ago, I'd just have to call my friends and tell them what's going on. Maybe I'd be better for it. I sure do hate talking on the phone.

I'm going to keep the shopping apps off my phone, though. Having just paid last month's credit card balance, I could use all the help I can get avoiding mindless, compulsive purchases.

Here are some of the things I've purchased, for which I choose to blame Buzzfeed and the spiritually oppressive environment of the cubicle and not an abysmal lack of self-control on my part:

1. Fabric dye - I was definitely going to dye my white blazer gray and get so much use out of it. It was a beautiful dream that died the minute I realized I had to visit a website to get the instructions.
2. Shoe liners - these were going to solve the age-old problem of "what the fuck kind of socks can I wear with my loafers/ballet flats/low-rise sneakers/any shoes that aren't sandals or boots?" I don't understand how people wear those stupid no-show socks that slip off your heel the minute you add shoes to the equation. Man, do I hate those socks. Almost as much as I hate underwear for its inability to stay put. Anyway, I ordered these miracle liners a month ago, and they finally shipped yesterday, and I'm already over it. I know this because I am currently wearing a new-ish pair of loafer-style shoes without any socks at all. I've surrendered. This is how I live.
3. A magnetic phone holder for my car - I often use Google Maps to navigate while driving, and I hate that I can't stand my phone upright in my car. This inexpensive solution was going to change everything. I still haven't remembered to bring it down to my car. It's been at least 2 months. 
4. A fabric de-fuzzer - it did not make my pill-ravaged sweaters or sheets feel brand new. I am beginning to lose faith in science's ability to solve life's biggest problems. 
5. Hem tape - my jeans are too long, and taking them to a tailor would require taking them to a tailor. So when I discovered this miracle tape that would alter the hem of my jeans without me having to leave the house, I was obviously thrilled. It's still sitting on my dresser. I haven't even bothered to read the directions. I'd probably screw it up anyway, so it's for the best, really. 

Those are just a few examples. I'm not proud. But if you need any useless gadgets (in Like New condition!), hit me up. I'd love to help.  

In other news, this morning I listened to a Fresh Air interview with Andrea Arnold, who wrote and directed the new film American Honey. She was talking about writing a particular scene about power and self-tanner and not knowing it would turn into that when she sat down to write. I envy that. I've heard other writers talk about not knowing what's going to come out of their brains when they sit down to write, and I covet that experience. I wish for an imagination, or easier access to my imagination. I wonder if it's something that comes with practice, or if some people are just naturally inclined toward fiction the way I'm naturally inclined to recording my thoughts, feelings and moods.

In other other news, my coffee tastes like plastic. So that's the kind of day I'm having. But it's still early, and there are K-cups in the office kitchen area. Because cliche is fundamental to corporate culture, and I'm really leaning into that cubicle life.