This is how I wake myself up:
I only feel good when I am drinking or eating. I have been drinking excessively every night since I left home a month ago. I have been restriciting a bit, bingeing a bit, purging a bit. I have finally gone back to gym to try get off some of the weight I have gained. I eat at work to ease my anxiety, I rush home to find a bottle of wine or rum or gin and to cry myself to sleep. I know I am depressed. I only want to eat until I feel nothing, to drink until I pass out.
“Hello giant,” a coworker greets me at ballet. I am wearing some sky scraper heels and trying unsuccessfully to hide the 10lbs I have gained since June.
“Please don’t remind me that I have giant genetics,” I implore him.
“Oh you have the “V” gene,” he says giving me a salacious look. “V for voluptuous”
My jaw drops in horror.
“Don’t say that to her,” another co-worker interrupts. “She thinks voluptuous means ‘fat’.”
Well we all know that’s what it means.