Binge Eating Made Me Want to Kill Myself

Eating disorders are dangerous — don’t underestimate what they are doing to your brain

Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash

I was either going to get help or cash in my chips and leave the casino. I seriously considered ending it all.

Have you ever thought about how you would do that? I came up with a couple painless ways.

Then I thought about my wife, my children, and all the good things I still had. I was gonna fix this, no matter what.

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The root of the problem was emotional trauma, and it manifested as binge eating. I had a history of overeating and a hidden sugar addiction, but a surprise betrayal bumped me off of the ledge.

One of the people closest to me ghosted me forever. Our middle child, someone we loved more than life, ditched us on purpose. She quit her job, moved to an unknown place, got a new phone, and blocked everyone from her old life on social media. There was no warning. There was no fight. We accepted her life, never told her what to do, didn’t see it coming.

It was like she died.

I thought I was handling it. My wife and I cried together. We talked it out with friends. We cried some more.

After a few weeks, I was open about it. I even told my boss, in case it was affecting my work. But the feelings didn’t go away, they just faded into the background.

I went back to my old friend, junk food.

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Comfort food never lets a guy down, right? I started stuffing myself like a Thanksgiving turkey every night.

I was craving that old dopamine reward from sugar and carbs mixed with fat. My favorite? The Frankenfoods that they crank out at McDick’s and Wendy’s and places like that. They are so satisfying while you’re chewing and swallowing.

The supermarket was dangerous too. I would sneak in like I was meeting a drug dealer in a back alley, and put a pack of hot dogs, a squeezer of mustard, and some buns in my basket. I’d look around to make sure no one I knew was watching. Then I’d grab some chips and dip, a couple of candy bars, and make for the tills. I didn’t want anyone I knew to see me there.

I could eat all of those hot dogs, follow it up with a family-sized bag of chips and top it with chocolate, and still be hungry like a starving wolf.

My brain was hijacked. I was not in control of this.

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If I had any junk left over at night's end, I’d put it in the garbage can. But I’d ruin it so I wouldn’t dig it out. I’d open containers and pour it all together, so there would be no chance I would want to save it. I squeezed the bread into white lumps and put coffee grounds on the whole mess. There. That demon was chained now.

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The shame and guilt were the worst. I couldn’t admit to anyone that this was going on. Part of the time I was living on the road, so my wife didn’t know what was going on. I dreaded the day she found out.

I think all addicts lie to themselves. It doesn’t matter if they’re hooked on smokes, cocaine, or coke and burgers.

I always ate fast food in parking lots to get rid of the wrappers and garbage before I went home. That way I could pretend it never happened, and I wouldn’t have to face the truth.

But there was no hiding the 40-plus pounds I packed on in a few short months. Or the brain fog, the desperation, and the mood swings.

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The next day after a binge, I would try to counteract the weight gain by doing a ridiculous amount of exercise on an empty stomach. I did extra walking at work, and I went for five-mile runs. I did kettlebell swings. But as the weight stacked up, running was hurting my knees. So I quit doing it. But I kept eating.

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I would make a meal plan and follow it for a couple of days. Salad, chicken breast, whole grains. Bullshit food that I didn’t want.

And then I would be driving home after a stressful day, and that old inner pig would start squealing about fast food. I was like a possessed man. Feed the pig and forget everything else. Instant gratification. Who gives a crap about losing weight right now?

If I ate even a little bit of anything I knew was bad for me, that pig came all the way out of his sty. That devious porker would convince me to give in and binge. “Well, today’s a write-off now. Might as well make it worthwhile. What else can I get before I go home?”

I would drive from the first fast food crime scene to the next. Get in that lineup, and order a meal. Park and gorge. Sit for a couple minutes. Then off to the next place and do it one more time.

I paid cash. If I used a card, my wife would see what I bought in the banking app. So, I always made sure to have some twenties in my pocket in case I needed to get my fix.

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Let’s add up the calories from one of these binges:

• Mcdonalds — Double Quarter Pounder, Large Fries, 10 Chickey Nuggies — 1730 calories without the drink or the hot mustard sauce

• Wendy’s — Dave’s Double Burger, Large Fries — 1330 calories

• Arbies — 3 Classic Beef’n’ Cheddars and a large curly fries — 1450 calories

That’s 4510 calories. Not including any drinks or condiments. And I stopped to get some chocolate at a gas station. I also ate lunch. Total calories per day, if I binged, were over 5500 easy. I’m lucky I didn’t do worse damage to my body, but the real cost was to my soul.

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I wouldn’t go to a doctor about this. I trust doctors as much as I trust a guy named Uncle Touchy around small kids. Doctors are brainwashed by the system into never thinking for themselves or questioning what they don’t know. They talk down to you, prescribe pills, label you with a diagnosis that makes you into even more of a victim than you already think you are, and ignore the actual causes of anything. They treat symptoms.

That stubborn male pride got in the way too. There was zero chance of me talking to anyone I knew. The shame was a deep, wide, red river.

So, I looked for someone who might help me online. Thankfully, I found Carlee, a nutrition coach. I decided to take a chance. I signed up for coaching.

My story will continue