eatn cake
January 9th 2025
I got high off of it. I juiced, I fasted, I detoxed, macro-ed, jumped, stretched, ran, and sweated. I tonic-ed, saged. I drink tea that gave you diarrhea. I'm willing to do anything and that's f****** commitment. There was so much frantic hope in the process. I would get euphoric imagining how much better my life would be, if I could be a little bit skinnier. My eating disorder began all the way back to when I was 12 years old. I think my mother instilled that in me. She was always so in shape counting calories running on the treadmill long in the mornings eating vegetables and staying very thin.
I remember she would always tell me "Jamie, a moment on your lips forever on your hips.” But this cycle that started out in eighth grade, was predictable at best, obsessive at worst. I feel discouraged about the way I looked when someone tagged me in a Facebook post, work skirts fit too tightly, I wanted a solution to escape my discomfort and be the ultimate desire for every woman. This cycle has gone on for years, I'm now in my 40s I run like a fanatic, never miss a day at the gym, take semi-glutide shots, puking my empty guts out all night, and sometimes while shooting on the toilet vomiting and s******* at the same time.
I distinctly remember feeling especially exhausted on last week's long Friday run. I hadn't slept in days, I wasn't just physically exhausted, but in every sense of the word. It was dark outside, 5:00 a.m. running through the blackness, I thought, it wouldn't be the worst thing if a card didn't see me and accidentally hit me. Then maybe I could stop trying so hard and lay down and rest. It didn't happen. So I had to run the 8 Miles home. Log into work and do hot yoga. Trying to function off a cup of black coffee, carrot sticks, one slice of an apple and adrenaline.
I'm going to go out on a limb and say this approach wasn't going very well.
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