Plunging into madness, with a fork

I started with licking the spatula after I frosted the cake.  Pure sugar.  So to combat the sweetness, I ate a snack bag of Goldfish.  And then another, and another.  When the children came home from school, I tasted a piece of cake and then washed it down with Diet Coke.

A few scant hours later, we went out to dinner and I ate the Tater Tots and hummus before my entree arrived.

As the hole in my heart rips open further and further, I scavenge for food to fill it.

This is new for me.  I have always been thin.  The largest size I have ever worn is a 6.

I crave mashed potatoes and gravy, fried chicken, chocolate pudding and double bock beer.  I long for Coca Cola and truffle fries followed by caramel cake.

The further I descend, the more my hunger grows.  I am larger now than I have ever been.  And truly disgusted with my size.  The fabric of my jeans strains over my ever expanding girth and I pilfer my husband's tee shirts to swath my frame.

It's not as if I surrendered; up until two weeks ago, I was running and working out biweekly with my trainer.

And then... a week off my medication, a week of personal losses... and then the withdrawl.  It has begun already... already I shy from the phone, retreat from touch, avoid eye contact.  It's like picking up Crime and Punishment... you relish every page even though the story is morose, you eagerly digest each sentence, even though you know the outcome will not be pretty.

I am Cassandra.  I know my fate.

The descent... it is like coming home, to an empty house.  You recognize the artifacts, even welcome the familiarity, but it is lonesome.  No lights have been left on.  The refridgerator is bare.  It is like when you came home from college and your parents had turned your room into a guest suite.  You lay your weary bones upon the bed but the paint is different and the sheets are new and your photos have been taken down and as you spin off to sleep, finally, you aren't even sure where you are.

I wear my madness like an old coat; I need it but know I have outgrown it.  Haven't I?  Shouldn't I recognize the coat, shrug it off... didn't I cast it off before?  Why?  Why do I don it now again?  Even as it settles around my shoulders, as I pull it in close underneath my chin, I swear it won't be long.  I filled my prescription today.  It shouldn't take long... should it?

The food.  The memories of Gran.  The nettles of everyday strife.  I can break free of this... can't I?  If I can write about it, how far along have I gone?  Although... I still lift the fork.