You find yourself bingeing a few times a week, maybe every day, and no matter how many times you promise yourself tomorrow will be different, it never quite is.
You cover your arms and legs even in the middle of summer, even when you're boiling, because the thought of anyone seeing this body feels unbearable. Some days you look in the mirror and the word that comes is disgusting. You wish this body were different, smaller, less visible, and at the very same time, somewhere underneath that, you want nothing more than to be seen.
You try so hard to hold it together. You have the rules, the good days, the version of yourself that feels in control. And then, out of nowhere, you're overwhelmed, and you're eating past the point of choice, and you don't fully know how you got there again.
You've tried to stop before. More than once. You've white-knuckled it, you've promised yourself, you've started again on a Monday more times than you can count. And still, somehow, you just can't stop.
Food is loud in your mind. It's there when you wake up and it's there when you go to sleep, running quietly underneath everything else you're trying to do with your life.
If any of this feels familiar, you're not broken and you're not lacking willpower. Something in you learned, a long time ago, to reach for food when things got too big to hold. That was never a failure. That was your body, keeping you safe the only way it knew how.