The Ugly Truth

So, I've decided that I tend to turn most of my posts into a poetic, metaphorical or flamboyant piece of writing. Sometimes I'm too extreme with my emotional spectrum, either unrealistically optimistic or annoyingly depressed. Now I finally realize that "pretty" words won't help me adequately paint a portrait of a binge eater; they probably won't help anyone else who is in a similar situation either (at the most, I think I've been getting a few eye-rolls instead). So my apologies go out to anyone who has been following me from the beginning of this experiment and please stick with me as I find my way around my own awkward writing process.

It's time for me to tell the truth  as ugly and uncomfortable as it may be.

For example:

Last Monday, I came home from school and had probably one of my biggest binges in few weeks. I had been fasting for the past three days in hopes of receiving revelation and a smaller appetite (probably not the best reasoning on my part). It became really hard to keep fasting due to my blood sugar spikes that dehydrated my body every time my levels went above 200 (I thought I would be okay fasting on a day I had a soccer game planned, unluckily for me it turned out to be 80 degrees outside when the game started and after attempting to run for a good 90 minutes, I ended up getting a major Charlie Horse in my right wasn't that good of an idea after all). By the time Monday came, I was pretty much spent. I came home and ate just about everything I could find. I had known that I had soccer practice at 4:00pm (I had gotten home at 2:45pm...I finished eating around 3:40pm) but I just couldn't stop myself. I remember thinking, "It's Mario's (my head-coach) day to run practice, the most we'll do is run a lap and shoot on goal for the rest of the my eating won't really effect me, I'll get over however I sick I may feel now....".

To my horror, my friend Riley and I got to practice only to see cones lined up across the field and all of our teammates taking their shin guards off. Instead of our normal practice, Mario had decided to hold a "conditioning" practice  because we had run out of steam at our last game (the same one where my legs cramped up because I was fasting).

I was bloated, nauseated, frustrated and on the verge of tears. How would I be able to keep my food down? Why had I let this happen? What will my team think if they see me throw up? Could I go make myself throw up before my body chose to unexpectedly? My thoughts were in a million different places,  I must have looked like a hot mess. I decided to "cowboy" up and attempt the workouts with my team (we ended up sprinting for a full hour). My food was smashing around inside of me and my stomach felt like it was about to rip open with my next step I took. After the first twenty minutes, I couldn't handle it anymore. I ran to the closest bathroom to make myself vomit up whatever food hadn't been digested yet.

Ironically, I walked in to the building to find a little girl trying to figure out why the toilet wouldn't flush. She talked to me about her predicament and she eventually found a button the wall that you had to push to make the toilet flush. She washed her hands and kept talking to me for a good five minutes before she left. By then, I wasn't nearly as sick as I had been . Plus,  while she was with me, there was no way I could have purged with her in the room.

Going to Antelope Island last year with my family.
This was towards the middle of my dieting, I felt insecure then too.
After she had left, I did my business and decided to try to throw up before I left to go back on the field.

Now let me hurry and add in that this wasn't the first time I had been driven to such desperate measures. I've purged a few times, usually when my blood sugar has been out of control after bingeing. I'm not going to lie, I always feel better after.

I jammed my index finger down my throat, trying to coax my "snacks" back up. I ended up making some dry heaves and nearly choked on my finger. I had to get back, I didn't know how much time had gone by and I also didn't want to be thought of as a slacker. Disappointed,  I gave up and figured, if I was meant to throw up, at least it would be naturally now.

I tried to run back to the sideline, but the pain came back as quickly as it had left a few minutes before. I half walked, half jogged to my team. My fat sloshed around and my breaths were forced.  I ran a few ladders, but I lagged behind big time. I wasn't even close to running as fast as I usually could. It was embarrassing. Eventually, I decided to check my blood sugar to see if that was contributing to my difficulty with the exercises and to give me a believable excuse to take a short break. It (luckily) ended up being high so I was able to sit out for ten minutes to catch my breath and let my body digest whatever it could from earlier.

I made it through practice and I didn't have any other binging problems for the rest of the night. I guess you'd think I would have learned by now that bingeing and soccer don't mix. I guess next time I'll try to listen to my conscience a little better.

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