What I did last night that I am ashamed of

A man did something rotten to me and I reacted badly.

I met a nice man and we hit it off well.  For two days, we conversed via e-mail and telephone in an excited manner, telling each other about ourselves, in hopes that we would continue to become closer and possibly meet.  Then late yesterday after I called him–he did not answer–he sent an e-mail explaining that an “old flame” had contacted him and he could not continue with me while he was “working things out” with her.

Typical “dear Jane” letter, I thought.  If he was being dishonest, it sucked.  Even if he was being honest, it sucked.  I was hurt, and wrote back telling him that I was “sad and disappointed,” and if he wanted to get rid of me, why didn’t he just come out and say it?  Then I wrote a PS saying “the door is always open.”  In a way, I question my judgment on the latter but I wrote in case there really was an “old flame” that didn’t work out.  He was, of course, a nice man, and it looks like my “single” status isn’t going to change anytime soon.

But the devastating part is what came afterward: I binged.  I haven’t done this in three years and it happened to me last night and I hate it.  I wanted to keep it very private, but my therapist told me to write about it, and if I’m going to write about it I might as well write about it here.

I am unable to purge.  I never learned how.  I hate myself for this.  I wish I could just get rid of what I ate so I wouldn’t have to live with the consequences of my actions, but instead, I must carry it around in my belly all day today and into the night.  In my history I don’t eat after a binge for a long time, and I feel guilty and ashamed of myself.  It feels like the whole world can tell by looking at me what I have done, by my belly, my disheveled look, and my bloated face, but in fact it doesn’t show.

My girlfriend called this morning and I didn’t have the heart to tell her what happened.  I wanted to, but I was so ashamed that I couldn’t get the words out of my mouth.  I did tell her I was devastated over the man, and perhaps I sounded a bit too shaken, as if he had ruined my life for the next several days, when in fact it was the binge that had taken over my thoughts.  He was incidental.  No man has that kind of power.

The truth is that I’m terrified.  If I go back to bingeing, my life will be ruined. If I gain weight again, they might as well not even bother putting me on suicide watch, but allow me to kill myself, because when I was grossly overweight, life was not worth living.

Of course, I am only stating my biggest terror.  I have only binged once, and I have no reason to assume it will ever happen again.  But the incident has frightened and shamed and shaken me so much that the taste of suicide is on my tongue, and all over my guilty body.

Feedback and comments welcome!