No, it is not of the sexually implicit demeanor. However, it feels just as torturously pleasurable. If you have read some of my other posts, you would know my affair is with food. It’s unhealthy, tantalizing, emotional and overwhelming. Like the black hole of promiscuity, it sucks me back in again and again. There is a moment when you have almost forgotten about it – the secrets and the lies have subsided – and you start feeling pretty good about yourself. This time it will be different. And then there is that moment when it sneaks back up on you. With a whisper in your ear you feel that need and desire, even though you know what it’ll mean.
My affair takes me away from myself and my passions. It is beyond something that I just do. It is my obsession, my compulsion, and often my release. The harder I try to stay away from it the harder it is to fight the urge. More often than not I wake up as if from a dream and it has happened without me first buying it a drink. Instantly I internally scream, “WHAT THE FUCK!” Guilt ridden and embarrassed I shut down into a state of pure potato, of the mashed variety. I loose sense of myself, my place and my purpose. I quite literally loathe myself in this moment.
Sweaty, honest and out of breath, it is very much like a passionate night of grinding, except I am the only one involved… kind of. In these ‘episodes’ (for lack of a better word), I put off the world around me. This weekend I was supposed to spend time with friends and see some live music, but of course I couldn’t get up the energy make it. Excuses were made and I continued in my oblivion, on the couch, all alone. My wife was there with me, but of course I shut her out too. In these moments I still can’t talk to her. I have just theoretically pissed the bed and I am so embarrassed and guilty for it. She must know. They always know.
Luckily (or not) my wife knows about my affair. We have a secret code that when I get in my eating disorder’s bed, I try and be honest by saying I don’t feel good. This way, I don’t have to say it but we both are on the same page. After 10 years of her being in my life and over 15 years of being a high-functioning over-eater/bulimic, I would assume we can be on some similar wave length. Doesn’t mean I feel better about doing it. Actually, I can’t stand it – which also makes me more prone to continue with my affair.
Hate is like cancer, it continues to spread without foresight. I hate this part of me, meaning I hate me. It has permeated into my should and this affair thrives off of it. Compassion is like making love. It takes time and is worth the effort. I understand that compassion is what I should offer myself, but I am having a hard time remembering that.
Thinking about this weekend off from work, it was not at all what I wanted it to be. I just came back from 10 amazing days of not having an episode and I was feeling really proud of myself. That was the longest time I have gone ever since I can remember. I want to feel great about this, but every since coming back I have done the deed and got back in bed with this. Positivity can be the most meaningful thought as long as you allow it to be what you choose to remember.
In this moment I am furious with myself and almost in tears for how much pain I caused. I think I need this just for a minute and I need to vomit it onto paper. I want to acknowledge that this feeling is real; however, it does not define me. We all learn from our experiences and this is just another to add to a very, very … very long list. I want to take the time to decompress, but not let it hover. I want to offer myself compassion – for both the good and the bad. I want to be kind to the person I am. I want to try and love myself. I want to take whatever I can from each of these experiences and let myself breathe the rest out. By now, I owe it to myself and the people I love.
As a note, I’m putting this up for myself to look back on in its unedited form so I can see what I was thinking in this moment. I want the strength to be able to go back and learn.
Until the next time,