As I lay in my bed, I find that i’m comforting myself with food. Why is the first thing I go to is food when I’m by myself? Is it something else that controls me too? Why do we eat so much when dealing with the many forms of this illness?
“It’s your hormones, just eat healthier.”
Well, thanks. If it was that easy, don’t you think I would have done it already? Probably not if I’m honest. I can’t find the love in other people, so I search for it in the only thing I can control, food. It’s there when I need it. It’s my shoulder to cry on. It’s my mom when she’s away. It’s my best friend when they are sleeping. Sometimes I like it more then you; tough shit.
I’m fat. So what? I can still love myself. I do, I do love myself. I just don’t like every other part of me.
“Why do you hide your food in your room? Are you a hoarder?”
No, definitely not a hoarder, I just find that if I eat by myself in my bedroom, I won’t feel the urge to deepen my depression by having to feel that bullying and judgment from other people. Thanks, but no thanks.
All I want to do is eat. Like all the time. Is there really that much wrong with that? There shouldn’t be. It is just food. It’s just a few extra calories and just a couple extra grams of salt and fat. If it killed me, that would be the most pleasant way to die.
If you can’t understand why it means so much to me, then you don’t get it at all. My comfort level is so high with it because that is the biggest thing that I can depend on. It understands my pain. It wants to heal me. It wants to give me life.
If you just want to sit at home and stuff your face with some donuts, or McDonalds or even pizza, just do it. Don’t let other people judge you for it. Food’s the only friend you need.
Now let us Netflix and stuff our faces until we can no longer breath, chew a little bit and then stuff some more in there; eat.