Finaly being honest with myself about my volatile relationship with food, and admitting that I have a serious problem, HURTS and makes me feel incredibly alone inside. I feel as though no one would ever understand why I eat the way I do when I am in private, as if the world is ending tomorrow... Eating for "survival" is such a simple idea, but why can't I detach myself emotionally from this necessary action for living? I feel out of control and each day I convince myself that tomorrow will get better, tomorrow I will make better choices... well a hundred tomorrows have come and gone and I am still here, making promises of yesterday.
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