The darkness that usually comes once the fog has lifted (about 72 hours) came a tiny bit earlier this time around. Usually after day two I have a few days of relief that my one-day binge has not (yet) turned into a multi-day affair, but I am not feeling quite so grateful this time around.
Which is not good. Because I felt absolutely wretched on Wednesday, and have no desire to repeat the experience. Not, of course, that I ever do. I wish there were some way when one feels the urge to binge to have just a brief sampling of how unbelievably awful one will feel afterward.
Apart from learning I gained a little over a pound today, at the moment I feel curiously unbothered by the binge. I suppose it is because I have been living my life in a way that I do not usually after a binge. I went out to dinner on Saturday night and ordered a starter (a Bibb lettuce, strawberry, and bleu cheese salad) and a main. I did not ask for the dressing on the side of the salad. I asked for no alterations to my pork chop, even though the vegetable it came with was made with bacon.
I haven't ordered this way in years. I haven't been exercising like a madwoman. And I suspect without the big fried dinner on Tuesday night plus the binge I might not even have gained weight.
I wouldn't eat the way I did Saturday every night. I suspect most other people don't, either.
It all feels curiously like the way I imagine the rest of the world lives.
Like life, or something like it.
Day Six.
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