I punish myself with food.
I go to food for comfort.
Pizza is part of my weekly weekend routine. It’s my treat to myself.
It’s my way of making myself sick so I don’t have to go out with friends I don’t have.
Or go to that AA meeting I’m brainwashed I should be at.
It’s my way of reinforcing I’m nothing but a fat, lazy, good for nothing, passionless loser.
I don’t eat pizza because it is a forbidden food. I don’t have any foods that are forbidden. I eat whatever I want to eat and I have for awhile. I’ve never stuck to diets. Still, I binge. According to Geneen Roth, or my understanding of it, is compulsive eaters restrict. I don’t. I have. I haven’t for awhile. I still binge.
I’m inspired when I hear of other women who are self proclaimed alcoholics and addicts that have found happiness and success. But nothing I do is good enough. When I do anything, I’m just a loser.
I haven’t had a drink of alcohol in 8 months. I haven’t sniffed a painkiller in over a year. I haven’t smoked a cigarette in over a month.
But today after my job interview for a second weekend job, which I got by the way, I came home and ordered a pizza. I wasn’t hungry. I wasn’t dying for pizza. I felt as if I should eat something other than chocolate ice cream from the container and cashews.
I needed it. I didn’t care about the spending of $20 for one stupid pizza.I didn’t care that I wasn’t even craving pizza.
I ordered it because the guy who interviewed me smelled good, dressed well, was very attractive, and hired me.
I ate half a pizza when I wasn’t even hungry because I assume every handsome and successful guy I meet has no interest in me and that makes me a fat and ugly loser. First of all, why the fuck should they? Who are you? Narcissistic and no self worth… Charming combo.
Jesus Christ. How fucking insane does that sound? Number one, potential coworkers/superiors especially are off limits because I am professional and have morals. (The work crush fantasy guy is just a fantasy… More on that later.) Number two, he’s probably happily in a relationship with a smart, funny, of average or below average weight, woman. Number three, since when did a stranger’s facade dictate my self worth? That’s the key.
Where does this pathetic need for validation come from? And why am I never good enough?
I want to love myself. I want to go out for drinks on a Friday night with friends like a normal person and not eat half of a large pizza when I’m not hungry.
I want to feel like I’m good enough for am attractive, successful, smart, and well dressed man to want me.