The two sides of my conciousness (Possible trigger warning for those with eating disorders)

Ok. So its been six days from my inaugural post. I wish I could say that everything has been sunshine and unicorn farts, but It hasn't been all bad. Most days, I ate when I was hungry, and stopped when I was full (albeit on some of the evenings I showed less restraint on stopping when I was full but I did not engage in any purgeing behaviors).

Caught between work, school, and this I-don't-want-to-get-out-of-bed-until-the-sun-is-up attitude I've had lately, I managed to do one run so far this week. Not nearly what I would hope for.  Some may say that I am disappointed in the lack of burning calories, but I missed the mental clarity and calm that running gives me and lack of said running may have helped contribute the emotional eating I engaged in in the evenings (running=stress burned, Not running=stress eaten).

Like I said, most days.  Then there was THE day of the week when I give myself permission to go all out. Call it stupid, call it bargaining with the devil, but I fully let myself do it. And you know what? Like a lot of the time, I don't conciously fully enjoy it. NOT-ONE-BIT.  I don't enjoy it when I let myself do it, and I'm scared of the times when I find myself eating uncontrollably seemingly out of the blue.

Theres this sometimes raging internal dialogue when its going on.  Theres the little, impulsive, I-WANT-IT-NOW side thats screaming "OOOOOO- get the frosting! And the candy bars! And the cereal! And all that cheese!!! I CAN"T WAIT!!!" And theres the other one. The reserved one who only wants the best for me.  The one who sighs, and puts up her hands while she watches me fill my shopping basket with everything the other one wants. 

And I eat, and eat, and sneak frosting in the car while going to get pizza so that my boyfriend doesn't know that I'm eating frosting too. He's missed me eating the candy bars and cheese as well and he won't see me eating the cereal, though hes there while I eat the pizza and then the ice cream.

I think he knows. In fact I know he knows.  He may not know every time that it happens, but he knows it happens.  He's known since he's met me that this is a thing that I battle with, and he patiently waits and supports me. He's never berated me for it. He is a good smart man that knows that I am an adult who would probably do these things even if he flipped out.  Instead he tells me he loves me, and that he hopes that I can find a way to stop because he doesn't want to be without me. And that breaks my heart.  That makes me want to quit more than any amount of yelling or scolding could. 

So I try. And I slip up. And I try again. Slip. Try. Slip. Whats the definition of insanity? Oh yeah, doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.  I think its time I try something new: yoga. Not as exercise, but as a way to try to reconnect my mind back to my body; to hopefully help me develop more emotional awareness before I'm seven bowls of chips and cheese deep.  Wish me luck.