Big Fat Faker

Today I feel like a big fat faker. Like a loser. Like someone who seen the light and rejected it only to wallow around in a pool of my own vomit. Today was a bad day. I'm pissed off for a couple of reasons, none will I mention here. But instead of waiting it out, praying about it or just letting it go, I returned to my old patterns.
After work today, I was frustrated and I headed for McDonalds. It was like it wasn't even me driving, but the primal urge to shove my frustration down into my belly with a Quarter Pounder (no cheese... I thought I was doing OK...). That was the wrong choice. The juicy burger and familiar mixture of onions, ketchup and pickles was more than I could bear and I was in a place of supreme happiness, in the clouds like a heroin junkie who just received their latest "fix."
That was all it took for a landslide of rollercoaster as I ascended to the top of the hill, all was OK. Then there was the downslide. I wanted more, wanted to feel the comfort of masticated bliss sliding towards my insides. I wanted another high. So I went to Jack in the Box and got some mozzarella sticks.... with ranch. Oh the sweet stringy cheese as I pulled the remainder of the stick from my mouth after the first heavenly bite. I reveled in it's elasticity and could think of nothing but the processed and breaded goodness swaggering it's saltiness over every last taste bud. My eyes glazed over for the ingestion of the rest of the snack. I wasn't in my body, I was on a cloud, high above the heavens, glowing with the light of a thousand suns. Once the last of the breaded angels were gone, I began to tumble down yet another alley of guilt. As horrible as I felt, I wanted to numb the pain. Numb it with chocolate. After all, I've already fucked up my day, right? Might as well get it all out at once, right? Bad idea.
I pondered which dealer should supply my next fix. McDonald's? Wendy's? Chevron for Hostess cupcakes? Then I saw it. The shine from the Grimm Reapers sheath in the window of Burger King and I was stuck in the beam of the Hershey Sundae Pie. Under no control of my own, I pulled into the drive thru and spotted a new kind of crack, a Butterfinger pie. Oh lord. Which one? I found myself ordering both of them. Who does that? I couldn't even make it home before tearing into the Butterfingery goodness. All the while, I was disgusted at this brazen display of gluttony. I waited until I got home before the consumption of the original sin. I hid in my garage, my privacy guarded like a bathroom stall as I savored the deliciousness of cream and chocolate. I allowed my eyes to roll back in my head as if I'd never had anything so good in my life. Then it was over and my pride was as empty as the containers, now just a symbol of my lack of self control.
Now I'm left with a ball in the pit of my stomach, equal parts crap and guilt. I'm going to the gym tonight in an attempt to work some of it off. I hope that this will be a memory that serves be better the next time I want to eat my stress instead of dealing with it.