“‘Cruising,’ much like how frat guys bar hop to pick up dates, is when you enter a state of half-awareness, propelled solely by the search of food, almost driven mad by the need to eat, to feel better, to quell the anxiety building up in your throat. As if food will keep you together. It won’t, of course, because you cannot eat away an emptiness that is not hunger, and you will hate yourself through every bite. Sometimes, you’ll cry while you’re stuffing your face, and you have no idea why you keep moving your hand to your mouth, and yet this is the coping mechanism you’ve reverted to.
And I’ve been so good, you think to yourself. I’ve been so healthy, and working out every day, and watching what I eat — because most binges are not a free-for-all every second of every day. There is usually a significant amount of restriction going on, or at least intended restriction. You start the day with such good intentions: to only eat x amount of calories, to run y amount of miles, and then you’ll end up in z size jeans! It’s fool-proof math, and with all your fat percentages and heart rate calculations, you’re good at math. But, invariably, a wire can trip somewhere on any given day, and all of your intentions are shot to hell. Tomorrow is another day, you think. I might as well give in and binge now. Because it makes just as much sense to crash your car once you’ve slashed one tire, but that’s logic you’re unable to grasp in the moment.”