I’ve discussed my embattled relationship with food here:https://waitingforheaven.wordpress.com/2013/09/25/confessions-of-a-recovering-anorexic-part-1/ (and in other places on this blog). As such, this article on Emma’s Hope Book really spoke to me tonight.
I say I’m an addict and you envision a bum passed out in a gutter on the lower East side. I don’t look like that bum. I don’t fit that image. So you smile at me and say things like, “well, you can’t really be addicted to food, can you?” or “oh you’re not really an addict, why label yourself that way?” or “you just need to use a little more self-control,” or “why can’t you just stop?”
I call myself an addict, not because I am active, but because I cannot allow myself to forget that my brain is hard-wired that way. Once active, I can’t “just stop.” I call myself an addict because that is the best descriptor of how my brain works. I accept this. I know this about myself. There’s no judgment, it is what it is. I call myself an addict because I don’t have…
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