hate me today

Emotional vampires everywhere. Am at work; where else would I be on a bright, brisk morning when the sun is out?

My drinking and binging are out of control. I am out of control.

Made big decision this a.m.: Dumped out an entire bottle of Hind Tail (aka: Yellow Tail, the extra tall bottle) that Roscoe got for me last weekend. Hid all the “A” in the house from wanton eyes (mine). Reason being, last night I came home from work and poured a sweet glass of the red stuff with every intention of consuming at least three or four more servings. After a brief buzz, I went to work in the kitchen, oinking down as much grub as I could swallow (and only the tasty stuff, too, like bean & cheese soup, salmon salad w/ chick peas and Thai dressing, a weight watcher’s biscuit with Laughing Cow cheese…)

And if that wasn’t enough, I headed upstairs to the hiding place in my closet where I stashed Roscoe’s V-Day presents: chocolate- covered fortune cookies and Ferrario Rocere (sic - no time to look up the damn spelling) bon bons. Ate them – every last one. Then promptly visited the bathroom for a 10 minute purging session.

Afterwards, I looked at myself in the mirror. A heart-shaped strawberry-colored patch had erupted in the center of my forehead. All from the stress of vomiting. Honest – it’s in the shape of a heart and resembles a burn, like from a curling iron. Was still there this morning. I am all too familiar with this red patch though, as I experienced it last week after downing copious amounts (read: four strong servings) of Vodka & Tonics, chowing on health food and yacking it all up. The patch fades, but it remains with me for at least four days, serving as a friendly reminder *not* to do what I’ve been doing at least three time per week for the past year.

I have porcelain white skin. No blemishes. The red patch stands out like a gun shot hole, only flat and smooth and shaped like the internal organ that keeps my blooding pumping. I don’t fully understand why it’s that shape, but I have ascertained it’s esoteric presence is a symbol of desire…the desire to somehow find a way to stop this self-condemning habit and (somehow) love myself. Stop the hate inside.

Am giving up the flask for awhile. A long while perhaps, or somehow limit myself to special occasions (uh - yeah). Until I reach my goal of losing 10 pounds. The purging too – no more. I’m 36 years old and tired of feeling like a lonely fat 16 year-old, which is the age when this whole habit started. After Dad died.

Work out at the gym 5-6 days each week. For the amount of time I spend there, I need to see results (addicted to body image as well). “A” and binging does nothing for my size or the scale. Keeps me the same - stagnant, imprisoned. Wrecks my body and self-image. I feel like utter shit afterwards, too. Weak and miserable.

If I am to do this though – and give it all up -- I will have one hell of a fight. Mainly with myself, overcoming the “urge” to both drink and over-eat. And the need to purge afterwards. I liken this urge to those demonic cravings of wanting a cigarette after giving up the two-pack a day habit more than four years ago. It’s *that* bad. A terrible ache inside. And yet another addition I have to overcome.

Tonight will be difficult though because it’s traditionally a purge night. Mondays and Tuesdays. And sometimes Wednesdays or Thursdays. Friday is when Roscoe comes over (with his 12-pack unless I bitch; then it’s a 6 pack with a Tall Boy). So no purging when he’s around.

What to do with Roscoe is an entirely separate issue. An impossible one. He’s fourth on my list of additions. One I doubt I’ll ever leave behind.