On my way to therapy

I am headed over there as we speak, feeling rather crappy. I plan to shock the pants off of my T. Maybe this is the only way to get her to listen. Has she seen a huge belly like the one I have on a skinny person before? Really? I photographed it this morning. I will force her to look at it. I hide this horrid thing and show it to no one. I stay indoors and don’t eat until the tell-tale belly is gone and no longer reveals to the world my suffering. No, I don’t plan to show her the photo I took. I will unzip my bulky, bulky coat. I will lift my shirt. And I will show her my shiny, round belly.

I brought with me my writings, but isn’t a picture worth a thousand words?

What am I saying to her with this action?

Welcome to my life. Welcome to the shame that I live with. I hide because of this. I allow you to see it only to prove to you its ugliness. I do not cling to this belly. I do not cherish this belly. I wait until it leaves me, for however long it takes. Next time you say, “You do not want to give up bingeing,” think again.

Wish me luck.

Feedback and comments welcome!