There's a dark spot in my inner being that I refer to as that.
Capital T.
Capital H.
Capital A.
Capital T.
I imagine this spot to be a dark,
Round,
Disc-like space,
Forever in the pit of my abdomen,
Like a monkey on my back,
Except this is internal,
Ever-present.
It's a dense emptiness,
If that is even possible.
It's a hole.
A hole where love belongs.
A hole that can only be filled by love,
And love alone.
Nothing else,
Especially not food.
No amount of food can ever,
Will ever,
Fill this hole.
No certain type of food can or will ever fill this hole.
This emptiness is not a food receptacle.
It's a love receptacle.
Only love can ease its sorrow,
Its sadness.
Only love can fill it,
Making it feel less empty.
Filling it to reduce its depths,
Reducing the sensations of sadness,
Grief,
Despair,
And emptiness.
Love is the missing piece to this internal part.
Love is the puzzle piece it needs to complete it.
How does one stop filling that hole with food,
As a binge eater,
As a compulsive overeater?
Remember,
It's not about the food.
It's about easing the discomforts of that,
In all capital letters.
The hole.
Soothing the uncomfortable sensations this part creates.
It doesn't want food.
It doesn't need food.
It wants love.
How can we begin to love this part,
By giving it what it wants and needs?
Can we begin by giving it the medicine it needs,
And stop giving it the wrong medicine?
For binge eaters,
That wrong medicine is food.
Are you able and willing to bring enough awareness to this part of you?
Recognizing what it truly wants and needs,
And to start giving it what it truly wants and needs.
Food is clearly not the answer.
It never was.
It never will be.
Love is the answer.
Always has been.
Always will be.
Much love.
Namaste.
