There was always a reason that I hated being alone. It's not that I'm lonely or high maintenance, or that I have to do something every second of the day. No.

When I'm alone, I have no distractions from food. It's like... My mind takes over, I feel like I need it, and in the end... I eat it. Not just a snack, not just a nibble of something. I eat a lot. I eat like I haven't eaten in weeks. I don't know why I can't stop, but my body just keeps asking for more. The sad part is, when I'm done, I feel like I just want to die.

And it's not because I haven't eaten in a couple days. I usually have fantastic control over myself while fasting. But it's when I take a bite of something, even something little, that the horrible cycle begins. Hear that? No, I bet you don't. The sound of a plastic wrapper of a roll of crackers I just demolished, crumpling as I go to throw it away. You don't even want to know what else I ate today. I'm ashamed and I feel too full for words. Obviously, I broke my fast. I feel like a failure.

The hardest part, even harder than dealing with what I just did, is blogging this. I promised I wouldn't hold back, and I didn't - not entirely - due to my boyfriend reading but... I don't know. This is hard for me. I feel like he should know, if no one else. And he's been so good to me about it the past couple days too... But it's still hard. I hate being judged. He said he wouldn't, but people still have thoughts. I'm sure things are still going through his head. What are you thinking about baby?

I'm fasting tomorrow. And also, hopefully, getting a treadmill. At least if I decide to binge, I won't feel as bad if I can run it off any time I want...

I hate food.