An Addiction

Have you ever had something that is suppose to give you life? It is suppose to help you breath, give you strength, and be your source of energy? But it also is slowly killing you at the same time? What is giving you life is killing you. Sounds like a riddle. I have one of those. I have something that keeps me from my friends. It keeps me from my family. It keeps me from being happy. It is turning me against my boyfriend and is making me loath the girl in the mirror. Or shall I say the body. Yep. You guessed it. Food. 

Food is suppose to help you live. I, on the other hand, live for food. It is an addiction. I struggled with my weight from the age of 11 years old. I maintained it in middle school due to sports however it got worse in high school and now I am at my heaviest. About 70% of my breakdowns come from my weight. It does not matter how much I work out, how much water I drink, how full I am. I can’t stop eating. It started when I was younger. I grew up in a divorced family. My mom was the type to feed us whenever we wanted to eat however my dad would try to put us on a schedule as to not overeat. The end result? I binged whenever I was with my mom. I saw food as happiness. Happiness my dad would take away. 

It got worse when high school rolled around. I stayed with my mom full time however we ended up in financial trouble that caused us to have limited food. It didn’t help that my mom only had soda in the house as well or that we had other problems on top of financial ones. I felt alone in high school. When I had no friends or family to turn to, I had food whenever it was available. Now, to this day, I eat out of fear of starvation. I fear I will go hungry. I am on a meal plan in college. I have plenty to eat. I have nothing to worry about. Why do I continue to eat this way knowing I will eat tomorrow? Knowing I will eat the next day? It is hard. I never talk to anyone about this problem. Whenever I do, I break down in tears. I never go shopping with my friends, I rarely take pictures of myself, I never take pictures with my boyfriend. It is getting worse.

Food is my addiction. I crave it. I want it. I need it. Sometimes I ponder the idea of not eating. What if I ate one meal a day. What if I took diet pills. What if, what if, what if. But I know better. I know what I am doing. I know it is wrong but at this point, I am desperate. At this point, I just want to be free. At this point, I want to hang out with my friends and take pictures and not move my boyfriend’s hands from around my stomach when he touches me. I want the world to know me. But I am in an abusive relationship with food. I am isolated from the world. I have what is giving me life yet it is killing me at the same time.  I have death between my lips and I am trying not to swallow it. 

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