Binge Eating Guilt


Yesterday I had an impromptu cheat day and ruined my whole, entire life.

Let me explain…

Cheat day is the one glorious day of the week where I get to eat whatever the fuck I want, guilt free…at least it’s supposed to be.

I’d bought a box of Mr Kipling's 'French Fancies' to do some kinky heaux shit for Mr. We won’t go into details of what I was doing with these strawberry, lemon and chocolate flavoured fondant cakes, but feel free to use your imagination.

Anyway -so my phone is propped up against the wall, the camera is recording, I’m half naked and there is cake everywhere, (I know you’re still trying to figure it out, lol)…

There’s a knock on my door.


It’s my Dad.


I rushed to cover the questionable evidence and hauled my clothes back on as fast as I could because the longer you take to open a locked door, the more suspicious it looks. My jezebel ass forgot that the box of Fancies are perched on my bed in plain sight.

Now, under normal circumstances, this is perfectly fine, but everybody is annoyingly aware that I’m tryna to do livin’ la vida skinny heaux-ca so a bitch ain’t meant to have no box of cakes, especially not a half empty one.

I opened the door and did my best version of casual, found out why he disturbed my amateur porn film, then re-entered my room to pick up where I left off, except I couldn’t because (clearly not taking the fucking hint of me closing the door behind me) my Dad follows me in (we’d just redecorated and he is low key obsessed with looking at everything over and over again).

Just my shitty luck, his eyes go straight to the pretty pink box perched on the bed.

“Oh, you have cake,” he sings in that judgemental ‘you’re meant to be on a diet, so what the fuck are you doing with that?’ way. You lot know the exact tone I’m talking about; the one that makes you want to stamp on their big toe with your size 7 shoe and tell them to mind their own god damn mutha fuckin business, bitch! “And French Fancies, I see.” He looks at me, “Cheat day, then?”

Fuck! Shit! Fuckity, fuck, fuck, shit!

Bitch, I hadn’t even so much as licked the top left corner of one them, but what am I gonna say, “No, Dad, *slaps knee and chuckles* don’t be silly! You see, Mr has this thing where he likes me to (insert word) with my (insert word), so I was filming it for him to jerk off to *wink, wink, nudge nudge*.”

I think the fuck not!

I had no other choice that to go along with his version of events. “Mmm hmmmmm,” I responded with a strained smile as I continued to curse internally.

“Okay.” He smiles and leaves, without asking for one…surprisingly.

I lock the door behind him and groan. Now I have to pretend its cheat day.

(Repeat curses as above)

Cheat day is like Christmas to me. I look forward to it like a heaux looks forward to dick (I am the heaux I speak of), so I like to have the whole day as my cheat day, but it was 7:30 in the evening, so because I can’t tell my dad that I’m a sket of epic proportions, sadly, cheat day has to begin now.

I. Was. Up. SET.

I had porridge and a Nakd bar with a cup of green tea for breakfast, salad and another Nakd bar for lunch, accompanied by some fancy aqua le governmenté that I like to keep in a Voss bottle to trick people into thinking I’m bougie and expensive.

I’d planned to come home and eat my carb free meat and two veg combo like I normally do, but now I have to pretend it’s cheat day.

I popped a French Fancy in my gob.

It tasted like diabetes and bad decisions.

I added the entry to my ‘Lose It’ app, which kindly informed me that this tiny piece of a sugar-induced heart attack is 160 fucking calories. Not even a little bit worth it.

So as I was in impromptu cheat day mode, and my Dad and I were the only ones home so wasn’t nobody tryna cook, when he asked what I wanted for dinner my eyes lit up like the 5th of November (I know the saying is'4th of July, but UK tings round 'ere, fam!). “Pizza!” I grinned, “I miss bread.”

“Cool. Pizza it is.”

And Pizza it was.

I happily ordered a medium thin barbecue base pizza with chicken, onions, pineapples and mushrooms, accompanied by these trash BBQ wings that Pizza Go-Go seriously need to rethink.

The pizza was EVERYTHING! I sat and watched YouTube makeup tutorials (including my faves, Jackie Aina and Nikkie Tutorials), and devoured the whole thing (including the trash wings...stop judging me, betch).

…Then I followed it up with another French Fancy. It was just as terrible as the first one. Since I was already on my way to fat bitch hell, I snapped off a line of a Swiss chocolate bar I’d found in the kitchen cupboard.

By 11pm my binge was over and I felt all the hard work that I’d done in my godforsaken spin class that morning, become null and void as I entered the details of my overindulgence into my ‘Lose It!’ app and saw my recommended calorie intake shoot past my daily limit and go into the red.

Who knew that a whole entire medium pizza to yourself was over 1000 flippin’ calories?

(Cursing resumes)

I’d fucked it up royally and I was so annoyed with myself.

That level of consumption is not what cheat day is about. Yes, you can eat what you want, but within reason, and reason had ran swiftly out of my yard the moment my Dad opened the door and let the carbs in.

This is reason, running

This is reason, running

Feeling shitty for being such a failure and setting my progress back by a like gabillion years, I stepped on the scales. Why? Because I was clearly not disappointed in myself enough.

The damage wasn’t awful, but the numbers weren’t as pretty as the lower ones that were there the day before.

I kicked my scales back under my bed where it could taunt me no longer, and refused to enter my new higher weight in my app, because if I don’t log it, it didn’t really happen. Binge guilt logic.


I sat and planned the following day and how I was going eat the lowest calorie shit possible to make my weekly stats go back into the green.

I get like this almost every cheat day to the point where I’ve said I’m going to give the concept up all together because eating crap or overeating crap makes me feel bad. The shitty things I want to eat never taste as great I think they will when I’m salivating bout them in my head (unless it’s ice cream. Ice cream can never be bad), so it never seems worth it after I’ve committed the pointless crime against myself. I can do the other six days with flying colours and calories to spare, and I will still beat myself up for what I eat on my day off. All I think is ‘It’s slowing me down’ and ‘I don’t need it’, but then that sounds all weird and health-nutty to me (not that being conscious of what you eat is a bad thing). It’s just…I don’t want to live my life fretting about what I put into my body so much that it gets me down when it’s not some leafy, wheat free, sugar free, gluten free, dairy free, soy protein, organic, vegan friendly stuff.

When I first started my lifestyle change, cheat days were a blessed blessing; I couldn’t wait for them. Now that I’m seeing results, cheat day just seems to fuck with me.

I think that what I need to learn is how to reign myself in when having a cheat day, maybe just have a cheat meal instead of the entire day, and to understand that if I go overboard or fall off on a day when I’m not meant to (it happens), that it’s not the end of the world and that I’m not a shit person for doing so. Focusing on that kind of stuff will give me an unhealth(ier)y relationship with food…

Or maybe that’s all shite and the whole reason that I feel crappy about it is because my body is reminding me that good food makes you feel good and shitty food doesn’t so just stop fucking with it. Who the fuck knows? All I know is that this is some shit I have to figure out in a healthy way.

If you’re dieting and you have a fuck up, I wanna know your thoughts on it, if you binge and how you deal with it.

Were all in this together, bitches!

Love Scotty x

P.S. Catch me on Laid Bare, live on Radar Radio this Sunday from 8pm-10pm with Oloni & Shannon