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Why Can't I Stop?

Updated on May 5, 2016

Food for the Soul?

I eat. That's what I do. It can be induced by good times, ill mood, ill health... or any random day of the week!


Many scoff at the idea of an eating addiction. Their derision is a glutton that feasts on any shred of understanding. Understanding that may well be handed out in spades to an alcoholic, drug, even gambling or sex addict. Yet food is a demon that appears innocuous to many, as it is a rare pleasure to savour in this life of innumerable stress.

Gluttony is a powerful draw. It has a gravitational allure, taunting resolve until the light of determination cannot escape and is sucked mercisliessly into avaricious oblivion. Yet every black hole has a source, a core that is drilled by a vigorous catalyst, like any all-enveloping compulsion. That consuming void, a vacuum where feeling eddies violently around in confusion, is depression.

Depression.

I have dedicated numerous blogs on my page to a plethora of topics, yet it is time to aim this gaze introspectively. Eating is a neverending thought in the back of my head, it possesses a rabid doggedness that various other aspects of my life would be envious of. Especially my languishing and somewhat tepid attention span and work ethic, once so earnest... a veritable Vesuvius of vigour now dormant.

From now on, the topic of this blog is going to surround the mire of mental health that has fogged my progress for many years. Nigh on a decade in fact. Misting my path like tear gas infecting bewildered eyes. Covering where it started, how it manifested and notes on how I feel.

Depression is often like needing a torch in the dark. All around you is pitch black, confusing and very often, frightening. Swamping dark that is bloated with fetid, toxicity of ill feeling and self-doubt and the radiance of your persona is reduced greatly to one faltering beam that only has a finite lifespan. Every so often, batteries fail and you are stranded in unpenetrable gloom of inner turmoil, you're the Dark Side of the Moon.

Writing has catharsis. The pen (or keyboard nowadays) is mightier than the sword. It also proves a greater defence. One can type and broadcast and remain somewhat anonymous, allowing feeling to transmit and be received by others. Hopefully to form a reciprocal bond that only affinity can sew together. Affinity garbs us in understanding and we wear it against the rough winds of ignorance and inclement weather of difficulty.

Appetite for Improvement.

With this in mind, I venture out from this point to journey through my own mind. I do this to help understand and work through the issues I have, but in this and coming blog posts, I hope to be able to proffer a gesture of communication and open discord with others who know the pointed anguish of mental health.

Thanks for listening and I will keep posting and keep you posted.

I Had A Black Dog.

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