Fickle, fickle me

Why can't I decide what I want?

I spend my days eating too much, waiting for the strength and control to refuse food, to avoid food, to hate it like a once-abusive ex-lover. But then when I actually get in the proper mindset, said state of mind terrifies me and I binge out of fear of going completely crazy. I wake up the next morning wishing I had let myself go crazy. 

It's not the hunger that makes me feel crazy... it's the hoarding, the constant rearranging of food, tearing everything out of the cupboard only to place it back in with shaking hands, arranging it back in some pseudo-logical order that I don't even fully understand. It's the brushing of my teeth, not normal brushing, but being  absolutely, positively compelled to brush my teeth until I'm spitting out blood, until my new toothbrush suddenly looks a month old. I can't even tell you how quickly I go through toothbrushes. It's the going outside in Georgia in June and thinking why the fuck is it so fucking cold outside? It's the stumbling around with a jug of diet ginger ale in hand and your parents thinking it's alcohol. It's the high, high place, far above the clouds, just outside of the galaxy. It's a weird place to be. It's a fucking terrifying place to be. But where am I now?

I'm sitting here like a bump on a log, waiting for the food to clear out of my body, feeling it tighten the back of a throat that so desperately wants to purge. I should just skip this step and stop eating altogether, let myself be crazy and scared and manic like I was last night. I'm going to be miserable no matter what, so I might as well relinquish my sanity to the always-moving, always-floating state of being that is... well what is this state of being called? Semi-starvation? Total starvation?

The point of this post? I suppose I'm saying all of this to announce my new rule of no eating after 6:00. I think I'll go in the pool.