I realized something after my weekend binge fest: I no longer know how to tell if I'm full. On binges, I eat and eat and eat, and never stop unless the food runs out or I get bored. I don't stop when I'm full. Even on the rare occasions I spend a day not technically binging, just eating like a normal person - I still don't know if I'm full or not after a normal-sized dinner.
The purpose of a binge, I presume, is for the body to try and reclaim everything it has lost. In my head, it's a desperate, suicidal attempt to not feel so horrendously hungry. And yet it never works. I could eat my weight in Wendy's; I'll still be hungry afterwards. Because I don't know how not to be hungry. I have condemned myself to a Tantalus-esque punishment.
This sucks.
It has, however, given me a better outlook. If I'm going to be feeling hungry all the time anyway, no matter what I do, then what's the point of binging at all? I'll just starve and be hungry rather than stuff my face and be hungry.
At least, I'm going to try. Again.
*-Still at 108. I suppose that's better than going back up over 110.-*
