The binging must stop.
It must.
I am going crazy.
Things will get better soon, right?

4 months with D.
I feel I must be dreaming.
He is so wonderful.
I do not deserve this at all.
Perhaps I was a better person in a past life?

"I wish you wouldn't be so worried about your secret," he says to me.
(I have promised to be 100% honest with him about everything.  Except for one thing which I cannot tell him.  The ED and all related issues, obviously.)
"What do you mean?"
 "Nothing about you thus far justifies you calling yourself a monster.  I don't imagine there will be anything that could in the future either."

I have tried to warn him.
I am not what he thinks.
I am not a good person.
I am a monster.

What normal person is afraid of food?
What kind of person cannot tell when they are hungry or full?
Who eats past the point of satiation, until they are sick and yet still feels empty?
Who wishes for the ability to vomit?
Who wishes to never eat again?
Who imagines blades and blood when they are upset?  (Note that I am not and never will be a cutter.  Sometimes I wish I could be, though.  A clean way of punishment is appealing.)
Who downs laxatives like candy, taking far more than the recommended dose?
Who has struggled in secret for 8 FUCKING YEARS and has nothing to show for it?

I look in the mirror and all I can see is monstrosity.
Huge and grotesque.
I have no redeeming features or qualities.
Outside or in.

I wonder, sometimes, if I will ever be able to tell him.
To show him this blog.
To let him in on my innermost secret.
One so terrible and so well-hidden that no one else knows.
Somehow I think that would be a very bad idea.

He is a psychology major.
Would he understand?
I doubt it.
The psych classes here do not focus on ED.
It is an afterthought in most of the curricula.
In fact, I think the only class that even touched on the subject in more detail than a paragraph was Abnormal Psychology.
How fitting.

Even then, I do not think anyone can really understand the mess of disorder unless they have experienced it firsthand.

He tells me stories of his adolescent growth spurt.
Standing in the kitchen, eating food from the freezer.
Too hungry to wait for it to defrost.

I wonder how shocked (and disgusted) he'd be if he knew how much I can eat.
I don't even have puberty or hunger as an excuse.

If I tell him, I will lose him.
Maybe not immediately (though I would not blame him if he ran)...
But eventually.
Relationships cannot stand the strain of disorder.
Especially long-distance ones.

I feel guilty hiding this.
Lying to him constantly.
But it is better this way.