The takeout bags pile up in my car, never in my trash can at home where someone might see. I eat in parking lots, shoving food into my mouth so fast I barely taste it. In public, I pick at salads, smile, say I'm not hungry. But alone, I BINGE::INDULGE until my stomach stretches tight against my skin. The fat builds under my arms, around my middle, visible proof of my secret life.

I've become an expert at hiding food containers, receipts. My coworkers think I barely eat. "You must have a fast metabolism," they say, not knowing I consumed what equals their daily food intake, in my car, before walking into the office. The pleasure never lasts as long as the shame that follows. My body grows heavier while my presence shrinks. I take up more space physically but less space socially. The cycle continues - hunger, craving, hiding, consuming, hating, repeating - my relationship with food the only consistent relationship I was able to maintain.