Not really sure what this is, but I fumbled through anyway! Always looking to do a little something different every now and again.
Start Fiction:
I wondered into the bakery, not sure what I wanted, but knew I didn't need anything either. Putting on fifty pounds over the past six months was starting to get to me; yet, I didn't care at the same time. The vicious little cycle was in high gear and driving my mental well being into the ground. At this point, the not caring seemed to be winning.
"A dozen glazed," I said, involuntarily. I wasn't hungry but I knew I was going to eat all of them, and probably with at least a half gallon of milk. And it didn't matter that it was four o'clock, I'd be ready for dinner.
My wife hadn't made any comments about my weight yet, but plenty regarding my mood. I can't decide if she doesn't care or doesn't see the connection. It's not as though being fat and depressed have been the first catalysts for me to annoy her; I just annoyed her, now I was just annoying her in a different way. That's what makes me think she doesn't care. And I am beginning to think I am right.
Two donuts were gone before I even left the bakery. I thought they shorted me until I realized my fingers were sticky. That was happening more frequently; unconscious food binges. I don't know where I am when it happens. I don't have any black outs, any hallucinations or ever feel o am merely eating in a dream. I simply am doing something at one moment, then I loose some time and gain several hundred calories.
However, I don't care. But I hate myself for being such a fat ass. The struggle between these two states is so intense sometimes; perhaps I am not alone in my mind. That would make more sense, but I am sure if I had more than one personality, this one would eat more, too.
End Fiction.
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