By definition a binge is any behavior indulged to excess. This can, clearly, refer to a multitude of things: drinking, eating, spending, etc. etc. And I do it well in many areas. I’m a professional binger. Is that even right? Binger? My spell check does not like that word. Maybe because it looks like Bing + er. Like Bing Crosby-er. I don’t know. I’m strange for analyzing it. Maybe I’m stalling. Yes, maybe.
Ahem. Let me clear my throat.
So, I am a naturally impulsive person. I’m naturally intense slash passionate slash impulsive. I have control issues. If I want something I stop at nothing to have it–typically, unless it is literally unattainable. It’s not as though I set the bar super high. I don’t say “Oh, yesssss I want a majilliabillion dollars. And I want it now!” or “I want a party with roomfuls of laughter, ten thousand tons of ice cream, And if I don’t get the things I am after, I’m going to screeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEAM.” I don’t do that. I think relatively realistically. So, it’s never out of the realm of possibility for me to obtain that which I see as imperative to my happiness.
It IS a problem. I want to be able to control these bouts. But, alas. I appear to be slightly (or significantly) incapable of doing so. As soon as I believe myself to be somewhat cured, I slip up. The motives vary for each situation. Sometimes it might just be wanting a diversion from a particular circumstance or crop of feelings. Other times it might originate from a sense of engulfing emptiness in my gut. And other episodes could honestly stem from something as trivial as boredom or unhappiness. It really varies.
I’ve recently been bingeing on love, foodz, and insanity.
It’s actually a very scientific formula we gots here:
Addictive Personality + Intensity + Passion + Sarlacc Pit of a Stomach + Broken Brain Disease + Insecurities + Love + Romance = Binge a Plenty
The BPD might have a lot to do with it. Whatevs. Long story short, I’m in love, I’m struggling to deal with the fear of abandoment (real and imagined), I’m losing people important to me left and right, I’m still picking myself up after a break up that sucked and have such a lack of confidence in every category of my life that I can’t for one second of the day STOP worrying.
And then little things happen that go on to push me even further over the edge–a spilled coke (or three.. THREE) here, a broken window there, a blemish way over there, and then my puppy hurtin’ her paw… just when it rains it pours.
I feel as though there have only been two days my widdle heart has been able to have a break from aching– one was spent literally all day at IKEA doing nothing but being goofy asses and running around having a good time dreaming of what our future would look like…and the other was when we took shots at a Mexican Restaurant and then movie hopped at the local cinema: Whip It, Zombieland and Invention of Lying. Good days. My heart was light and carefree. Everything was taken in stride. I was still in a haze about what was happening. I didn’t understand anything, but that was ok. It was ok.
Nothing had any title. Nothing had any label. Nothing was serious. I was just basking in the excitement of each moment, treasuring the time spent with her, cherishing all of the newness. But, then things changed. I got the girl. I never get the girl! I’m the consummate loser. Sunny Failtron, they call me. No, actually no one calls me that. I just made it up. I’m that lame. Heh.
But, seriously… It was worth revelling in, I tell you what. (say that like Hank Hill). And it still is, truly. Love is fun. New love is even funner. Yes, funner. Fuck grammar, mk. Even if this love is tainted by past relationships, tension and hatred from a select set of folks–that does not make it any less special or any less real.
And I know what love is. In so many ways I’m a heroine in a fairy tale, constantly dreaming of life with Prince(ss) Charming–of being swept off of me glass slipper’d feet and wrapped up in the arms of my one true love. Yeah, I believe in that sappy shit sometimes. I’m sorry. I’m only human. Grown up–oh no guess again. I see no problem in thinking with your heart sometimes. I mean shit. We live in a world full of grief, tragedy, poverty, sorrow and awful awful things–I’m tired of being a realist. If I want a dose of cold harsh reality I’ll take a shot of the evening news or CNN.com. But, if I want to watch “Enchanted” or some other incredibly saccharine incredibly pathetic chick-flick and be knocked off of my feet by optimism and cheer–then so be it. Let me be.
Let me have my moment of elation. A moment resembling my dreams where I can fly as high as the sky reaches–as far as the universe stretches–and have that soulmate holding my hand the whole way. Why is that so hard to believe? Why have we been conditioned to believe that love is never real enough to sustain our couplings amidst these every day stressors of life? We are responsible for our own downfall in the most basic and intrinsic element of our existence: love.
Those bohemian good-for-nothin’ Parisians in Moulin Rouge! knew what was up. Truth, Beauty, Freedom and above all things Love. “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return. “
Hits close to home for me. I know that I’m a complicated person from the outside looking in. I have many layers. More than most, I’d assume. But, when it comes down to it, there’s not much to me. I want to be loved. I want to love someone and feel it back– without question, without hesitancy, without conditions, without worry. That’s really it. My entire life centers around this hope–this dream, however far-fetched it may be, it is and always has been my focus in this fucked up world. I’m constantly searching for that shoulder to lay my head upon when I cannot hold it up a moment longer.. That voice to ring out through the night when I cannot sleep. That hand to run its fingers through my tangled hair when I cannot rest. That one person who will always be there for me, ready to comfort, before I even know I need it yet.
I want love.
Apparently at any and all costs.
I’ve burned a lot of bridges to obtain it. But, I’ve known for months that I would be a fool to not fight any obstacle that crossed my path in order to reach out and grab it. So, that’s what I did. Lost a best friend, lost a girlfriend, lost two family members, and probably more to follow–but I hardly can concentrate on anything else other than the wide smile on my face.
But, if that be the case then why (and where) do I find these voids to fill with food, worry and anxiety? Why can’t I just be happy? Why can’t I enjoy my blessings rather than try to run from them?
As soon as that title went from just friends to dating to being in a relationship–my stress level intensified ten-fold. When you are just friends you can only go up, you can only increase the bond between the two of you, you can’t fuck up too much. When you are just dating it’s casual, it’s relatively stress-free, you are still just trying to establish a connection–trying to get to know one another. It’s fun. It’s easy. But a relationship? GULP. Then I’m just waiting around to fuck up. I’m just concentrating on the negative aspects: the fear of boring her, the anticipation of her leaving, the jealousy, the inferiority, the flaws in my appearance, the lack of my confidence and experience, my immaturity, my irresponsibility, my deeply embedded psychological disorders. I am riddled with anxiety. I’m so goddamned thrilled to have my dream girl by my side and I enjoy the hell out of my time spent with her. She is everything I could ever hope to find in a woman and then some. And she adores me the way I do her. It’s great. She wants to learn about me and my craziness. What is sweeter and more romantic, right? Heh.
But, I just can’t for a single minute allow myself to enjoy that. Instead I just tremble and twitch and avert my gaze to the ceiling rather than to her stunning emerald eyes. Who does that? Me. I do this. I’m fucking tired of it.
And today I binged for the first time this year. Awesome. Record broken. Fail. It wasn’t a huge one. It was lack of control that worries me. I want to stay away from old habits. I want to continue walking forward. And I think I will–it’s just difficult to do so when I know that I will choose to not eat for the entire next two days to make up for it. These patterns are easy to fall back into. And I hope that I’m distracted with mah love sickness to be bothered with looking skinny.
Peace out seacrest.