For once, I was kept distracted from the bingeing urges.  My goddess of a mother sat with me right until I dozed off.  The next morning, she was right there to make sure I was alright too.  In order to keep things under control, she laid out some rules.  Rule one: buying food was a no-no.  Unless she was there to keep an eye on me, I wouldn't have access to my money.  Was I upset to hear that?  Oh, yea.  Knowing my way of getting food was gone made me very upset and a little more hostile towards her.  Unintentionally though.  

Rule two: she was to keep an eye on me at mealtimes or if I had food around me.  I guess she didn't trust I could control myself around it.  She promised she would lessen the amount of time she was watching over me once things started looking up, but for now, I was stuck with her watching my every move.  Adding to that rule, I learned she would be watching not only how much I ate, but the pace of which I did.  Too fast? She would tell me to slow down.  Too slow?  She would tell me she's not letting me skip the meal.  Skipping meals was another thing that was not allowed.  She knew the outcome of it would only be me feeling so hungry I wouldn't be able to stop myself.

Lastly, rule three: no going out to exercise all day.  In fact, she was limiting my exercise as a whole for some reason.  That, I couldn't understand.  Clearly, I needed it.  She was pretty adamant about being strict on that one.    However, she did promise a 30-minute walk every day if I cooperated.  That gave me a small motivation.  Although I didn't love exercise, I knew I would feel better getting some.

The first day of having these rules set down was… rough to say the least.  All I thought about was food.  Constantly.  How could I possibly sneak a binge?  How was I going to cope??  What was I going to do with myself?  I didn't realize how addicted I was to the habit.  Was I really this bad?  Stressed out by everything, I started getting very irritated.  Last night, all I wanted was to stop this habit.  Now, all I wanted was to be allowed to indulge in the habit.

"Adam?"  Mum quickly checked on me from the living room.  With nothing to do, I was simply laying on the sofa and attempting to find the motivation to knit something.  "Are you doing okay, dear?"

"Just fine,"  I grumbled.  The tone caused Mum to pause and give me a look.

"You don't sound it with that tone."  She frowned.  "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

I glared at her in response.

"Alright…"  She sighed.  "How about you come help with the laundry.  Maybe it'll help take your mind off things."

"Doubt it,"  I mumbled as I pulled myself up from the sofa.  Already irritated, I just held my tongue and did what she wanted.  Together we washed and dried the laundry for everyone in the house.  During that time, only food occupied my mind.  Thoughts of sweets and pastries crossed my mind constantly.  Oh, what I would've given to be able to have one and just feel better emotionally.  Even if it was just a little.  Mum tried to hold a conversation, but quickly realized it would be pointless.  I wasn't in the mood to talk.  

Later, the family had supper together as usual.  Despite wanting to have an outburst at the ridiculous portion on my plate, I bit my tongue even more.  It was a wonder I hadn't bit right through my tongue yet.  Emotional and hungry, I dug in.  I knew the moment wouldn't last long, but finally, I had my emotional crutch back.  

"Slow down, Adam."  Mum placed her hand on my arm and gave me a concerned look.  It took everything in my power to not tell her off.  Instead, I slowly pushed the plate away for a moment.  Having it further away from me made it easier for me to not go right back into speed eating.  I looked up to see my Dad giving me a weird look.  I returned it with a very frustrated and sulky expression.

"What's that look for?"  He raised an eyebrow.  

"Nothing,"  I grumbled.  Dad didn't actually know what was going on.  Mum and I agreed to not tell him as we knew he wouldn't handle it well.  Gender was already an issue.  Bingeing didn't need to be added to his list of reasons to hate me.

After counting down about 60 seconds, I pulled the plate back and started eating again.  At first, it was normal-paced.  Then the speed increased and once again, I was told to slow down.  With a loud groan, I pushed the plate back again.  This kept happening over and over and over until I finally finished.  Tired and frustrated, I just went to bed.  If I stayed up any longer, I would've blown up at someone for sure.

One would expect that after a while of attempting something, it would get easier.  Sadly, that wasn't the case.  Two weeks in and it was only getting harder.  I begged Mum to let me have just one small binge but the most I would get was a little bit extra in my meals or maybe a snack.  Keeping myself from having an outburst was getting harder and harder each day.  Mum could see that I was breaking and tried to get me to talk, but every time I did open up a little, it just made me feel worse.  Why did I have to be such a pig?  Normal people didn't crave food like this!

As usual, my Dad was not helping.  Constantly, he would point out my eating habits at the table, or comment on how I look either bigger or smaller.  A week in, he caught me going out for a walk with Mum in my dress and he blew up at me.  Dealing with that without food to lean on was hell.  Instead, I got to cry on Mum's shoulder about how nice a pie would be.  Real mature of me, I know.  I guess she was feeling a bit nice about that one and the next day I actually got a slice of pie, albeit a small one, but I digress.

September

Almost 3 weeks in and I couldn't hold my emotions in anymore.  I wanted- no, needed the food.  I didn't care if I wasn't allowed to.  I was getting my hands on it somehow.  That meant all dignity was about to go out the window.

Desperate and blinded by my need for food, I snuck around the house and looked for anything, and I mean anything, that I could get my hands on.  From leftovers to food out of the bin.  I did not care.  After collecting a good enough stash, I ran to my room and hid behind my bed to be the disgusting person I was.  None of it had much of a taste because of how fast I was eating.  Mum catching me in the act wasn't something I wanted to face, so I knew I had to get it down fast.  Unfortunately, I wasn't fast enough.  The woman was smarter than I thought and knew I was being too quiet.  Minutes in, and she was at my door with a very concerned look on her face.

"Oh, dear."  She sighed as she let herself in and slowly came over to me.  "I should've kept a better eye out, huh?"

"Leave me alone."  I hissed.  Even I was surprised by the coldness in my voice.

"I know this is hard for you,"  Mum said quietly as she sat down beside me and rubbed my back.  Showing no signs of wanting to take the food away, I kept shoveling it in.  "But this isn't going to help, is it?  Surely some of this doesn't even taste good."

No response.  I just kept eating.

"Alright, you."  Mum put out her hand, asking for the food.  "That's enough.  We're going to clean this up and then talk.  Whatever is bothering you needs to be discussed, and not with food."

"Please can I just finish this…?"

Mum sighed.  "You can finish the pastry.  The rest I'm putting away.  Does that sound better?"

I thought about it before nodding.  A pastry was better than nothing.  With a sigh, I pushed everything her way and she started cleaning up.  Right as I was about to take another bite and actually try to enjoy the pastry, I heard some VERY angry footsteps start coming up the stairs.  Oh no.  I was in some serious trouble now.  Scared, I looked at Mum, who had the same look of fear on her face.  This wasn't good.

The footsteps came up the stairs and stopped right at my room.  Two eyes glared at me from behind, making me start to sweat.

"Eating my leftovers again, are we?"  He growled.  Who knew the man would feel so strongly about them.  "Just couldn't help yourself?"

"Mark, this isn't a good time-"  Mum tried to say.  Unfortunately, it was too late.  He saw the stash of food I had, including half of his leftovers.

"What.  The.  Hell.  Is.  This."  He said in a very, very low and cold tone.  He expected an answer and he expected it now.

"I… uh…" I looked down at the pastry I had and fiddled with it nervously.  There was a silence before Dad snapped.  And I mean snapped.  Without any warning, he stomped over to me, grabbed me by the collar of my dress, and lifted me up so our eyes met.

"I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOU, BOY!!"  He screamed angrily in my face.  The furiousness was showing clearly in his eyes, scaring the shit out of me.  Fearing he would hurt me worse than before, I began to shake and tear up.  "FIRST THE CROSSDRESSING AND NOW YOU WANT TO BE A SPOILED BRAT AND EAT OTHER PEOPLE'S FOOD?!"

"Mark, please!!"  Mum protested as she tried to intervene.  "It's not intentional!!  She doesn't mean to do it!"

"STAY OUT OF THIS!  YOU ONLY VALIDATE HIS STUPID FANTASIES!!"  He shoved her to the side and threw me to the ground.  With a loud thud, I smashed into the wall, knocking over the nightstand that was next to me.  "I'M DONE WITH YOU!!  CLEARLY, NOTHING I DO SEEMS TO BE ABLE TO SAVE YOUR SORRY ASS, SO HOW ABOUT GIVING THE STREETS A TRY!!"

"Wait-"  I started to say as tears flowed down my cheeks.  Maybe if I could just convince him I could do better!!  I could live as how he wanted me to be until I moved out!  If being thrown out onto the streets was the consequence for presenting as a woman, then I would just have to learn to ignore the feelings and live with them!!  And I would try harder to not binge!  Surely I could... right?? 

"NO!  I'M DONE!!  GET YOUR STUFF AND GET THE FUCK OUT!!"

"Mark!!"  Mum cried.  "If you're going to force her out, at least give her some time!!  A month and-"

"If he doesn't leave now, then the mental asylum will have a new patient,"  Dad said very coldly.  "Your choice, boy.  What will it be?"

"Honey-" 

"I'll g-go…"  I sobbed while nodding.  With all my remaining strength, I shakily got up and grabbed my dresses, and shoved them in a bag.  I was about to shove the precious blue one I had in there, but I didn't dare.  Being out on the streets would ruin it.  

"I'll take this one,"  Mum said as she grabbed the blue one. It took me a second to realize that she had read my mind.  Leaving it in my room meant that Dad would probably trash it, so she was holding onto it for me. "I do need a new dress."

As much as I loved the dress and wanted to take it with me, I was glad it would be somewhere safe.  Maybe in the future, I would be able to come back for it.

"Hurry up, boy."  Dad glared at me.  I moved as fast as I could with my shaky body.  Fumbling slowed me down, but Dad was always there to shove it into my bag for me.  Without any hesitation, he started pushing me out of my room, ignoring my mother's crying in the back.  He shoved me down the stairs and right out the door, slamming the door in my face.  There wasn't even time to say goodbye before I was officially alone.  On the streets and alone.