Binge Eating Disorder

She curled up into a ball at the foot of her bed; her eyes clasped tightly shut as though protecting herself from the overwhelming sense of guilt spilling from her aching belly.

She had no control.

It scared her. It was as though whenever she walked into the kitchen a demon would take possession of her body. She couldn’t pass by the fridge without it dragging her forward, pressing her to have just another bite; just another taste of this and a little nibble of that…

Of course, it only happened when she was alone. If there was someone else there then the demon dared not show itself. The shame of such lack of control made her steer away from the kitchen while someone lurked there, but as soon as they left she would once again be drawn into the same pattern of feasting until her stomach hurt, just like it was now.

The worst part of it was that she had no idea how to end it; how could she possibly bring the horrid feasting episodes to a close? She couldn’t even admit what she was experiencing, to herself or her family and friends. No one knew. And even if they did know, how could they possibly understand? They were never there when ‘it’ happened; there was no way they could ever protect her from herself or the habit she had evolved into.

This was how she always ended up; at the foot of the bed with the shame bearing down on her like a tonne of bricks. Then she would make the same promise to herself, night after night.

I will not eat, she would swear before switching off the light and leaving the room in complete darkness. I will control myself, she would think as she climbed into bed, staring at the ceiling invisible in the pitch black and listening to the dead silence of the night.

But she never kept those promises. Not that she was hurting anyone by breaking her vows. No; she was hurting someone. She simply didn’t think that that person was important enough to care about what they felt.

And that person was her.