important parts

How comes that I feel like starving myself on some days, that I enjoy the pleading of an empty stomach and the pain that comes with? How it makes me feel powerful, a punishment to myself of some sort. How it satisfies my head to lay in bed, bending my body and smiling deep inside. How comes that this happens to me so much? How comes that some days, mostly the ones I feel depressed or worthless, my mind tells me to eat with no interruption, eat and eat and eat until I’m holding my stomach, until I also lay down, bended over, sick, sad, even more depressed? How comes that it’s the thoughts about food that run through my head over and over again and never seem to stop? That I choose my chocolate rather from the amount of calories than from the taste? I thought I was over this. I told myself I was but it keeps catching up with me again and I don’t know how to defend myself. I’ve gone through this for a long time. Didn’t eat, then ate more than my stomach could hold. Signing up on those websites that tell you what to do to keep getting skinnier, entered some of those groups of people that keep messaging each other to motivate themselves to steadily loose weight and never stop not eating. There were those diets, where you wouldn’t eat anything but a few bars of chocolate everyday, I chose white chocolate, because there weren’t as many calories in it. I went through this for a week. I felt horrible afterwards, my body hurt, I didn’t have enough strength to move. I know it has gotten better. Way better. But how comes I made myself throw up a few weeks ago after eating a lot of junk food and ice cream? I was too shocked afterwards, I felt like I betrayed myself. I couldn’t trust myself anymore and once I loose myself into this certain thought process I can’t help it. It might have happened like five times in my life so far. Beneath the times I threw up due to alcohol. But that’s another story, not even a depressing one. And what I’m doing here is not typing this because I want anybody to know. I have not told anybody yet, and I am not planning to do so. It’s just a strange thing to write down facts and it’s shocking to see how much I’ve spend my life living this way. And how it’s still not over. How it still keeps coming back sometimes and throws me into a row of days when everything’s about food or no food. All this appeared in my mind again a few days ago when I found some old diaries and scrapbooks I made years ago. One of them I hid better than the others, it contained pictures of skinny girls, motivation quotes and instructions how to loose weight. I’m scared to name any other things of this sort I did. They say writing helps oneself to face problems better and solve them. I wonder if this is something that’s solved easily, and I hardly doubt it.