You wake up on the futon in a daze only a binge can leave. The alcohol doesn't matter. It's all food.fucking food. You wonder two things: how long have I been asleep? Can I still purge this shit? The panic settles in. You feel like a balloon. You recall snippets from the binge: the mad cooking and eating of half-cooked food, the desperation to just be full. For a moment anger rushes you, "fat stupid look what happened. how the hell can we lose weight if you keep doing this shit?" You can't conjure up an excuse. But it's still early outside; you can purge it all via exercise. You ponder how long it would take to burn off the binge, how much running, how much yoga, how much restricting. Again, there's the panic, followed by a hypomanic sort of feeling--the thoughts! You can't stop thinking, can't stop hating yourself for being so damn weak. You know you won't be sleeping now and walk towards the closet to get some running shoes and it feels like just another day, just another crappy day.
-MT