Currently lying prone on my sofa with my jeans unbuttoned and one hand over my mouth to catch any spew that might decide to leap from my mouth with no warning.

I feel sick as a ruddy dog, so sick I can't even be arsed to watch Glee but at the same time can't move and it's all my fault. I wish some sciencey boffin out there would invent a pill that would completely replace food, eradicate the need to buy, store and eat foodstuffs.

Every frigging day that I have to make food choices is a nightmare, it's like a series of mini battles in an attempt to win a never ending war. Some nights my troops don't even leave the trenches and I don't even start the fight, preferring to sit back and let the yikky desire to stuff my face until I feel sick wash over me.

Tonight was one of those nights unfortunately and now I'm bloated, irritable and in real danger of vomming all over my sofa. It's nights like this that I get so fucked off with my eating disorder that I wish I could do something permanent about it like chop my sodding head off or move to a remote mountainside where all I have to live off is grass and water from a stream. I'm making light of things (as I always do) but actually I'm angry at this effing disorder for making each day difficult – all I want is to have a normal healthy relationship with food!

Add to that the mental headshizz that is the addage 'a moment on the lips a lifetime on the hips' or in my case 'if you eat that (which you will) you'll always be stuck with a massive arse'. Top with a sprinkle of guilt at having had gastric surgery on the NHS and yet still sometimes relying on the contents of the fridge to 'deal with stuff' and you can see it's a wild ride inside my bonce at present.


One thought on “Bleurgh

  1. God… reading those adages makes me think of my Mum's favourite. "How fat do you want to be?"That phrase still haunts me everytime I reach for something I probably shouldn't (about 50 times a day then)

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