Binging
September 17, 2020
I feel my self slipping down a slippery slope, sliding sliding, slick but not smooth.
Self so controlled, self so composed, creating any friction possible to delay the descent.
I cling to concepts and objects that feel stable –
A morning run
The same bowl of berries and banana
The dash of cinnamon in my coffee
The towel folded on the step stool I couldn’t close
The same chair, with my laptop, even if there is no work to do – just sit there.
But there is someone new,
And with new people come new things
And new hours
And new places . . .
A new plant.
I shift side to side on the sidewalk,
Resisting the urge to go home as the hours tick closer to “bedtime.”
I think of the calories I can cut the next day,
And extra sweat I can induce,
As I deceitfully enjoy the food and drinks that I know will betray my body.
And as I lose more and more control,
I begin to sabotage myself – knowing where I’m headed.
Mouth sliced by tortilla chips
Face blooming red from wine
Stomach gurgling from cheese
I hate myself.
And my plant is wilting.
I can’t run because I don’t feel light,
And I binge more because I can’t run.
Tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow –
That will be my fresh start.
