Coming Clean, part II

So it’s maybe 2 am on a Thursday. Payday is tomorrow and because you’re responsible, you’ve lined up all your automatic payments, budgeted etc. The little bit that’s left over is what you get to spend on groceries, going out and whatever else normal people spend money on — new clothes, electronics, the salon — whatever. But for you, as you get off of your knees and grab a Kleenex to wipe your mouth clean, already know what those precious dollars are meant for. This haunts you, yet you feel powerless to stop.

By this point, it’s about quantity rather than quality — spaghetti drowned in butter and garlic, ramen, cheap baked goods you can load with cream cheese — anything to fill the perceived void inside of you, anything to fill you and that you can empty yourself of. The face of god you find in a toilet bowl. This is true; your intercostal muscles can scream in pain to the point that just clenching them is more painful than a full ab workout. It doesn’t stop you though; the drive to consume and empty is, well, all-consuming. I’ve eaten practically everything in sight, in reach only in order to empty myself. To keep anything of caloric value — even healthy food, a pear, a peach — has terrified me. I weigh 120 lbs as a relatively fit 5’6″ male. 

It’s a powerful concept, when you break it down. The drive to purge (the technical term) takes on its own almost religious significance. It feels almost better than sex. To fill oneself with anything and everything in sight or reach and then to release it all, to experience that spasm of the abdomen and just be empty — and to dwell in that emptiness, to be empty — is a profoundly moving experience. I use “religious” with full intent, without delving into theology, mind you; — I have seen the face of god swirling down a toilet, just to collapse on the floor and listen to my undernourished heart race, wondering if perhaps this is the time I won’t be able to stand again. 

~ by Benji on March 11, 2013.

2 Responses to “Coming Clean, part II”

  1. This is a very powerful piece in its searing frankness and depth of feeling. Frightening in parts. I hope that writing about it led you to the relief you said you were hoping for when you began the piece. It was brave of you to commit this to words and to publish it. I want to think that you will draw upon this same bravery (and your resourcefulness and self-awareness) in fostering the recovery you allude to in one of the comments to this post.


  2. This is so painful to read. I agree, incredibly brave – as your previous post was too. I do not know at what stage you are in your recovery but I wish you all the best. Slowly but steadily… Just hang in there and slowly try to let go of the pain.


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