Full

 I chase fullness. Completeness.  I chase it like a woman starving for a drink.  I chase it even though I know it will never be caught.  I try to fill in the gaps with food, with things, with aimless uses of my time. I long for a feeling that I am enough to fill in all the holes without any assistance.  I will never be enough.
I use mantras, I use reinforcement, but it feels as if I am made of Teflon. Nothing sticks.  Except the weight. The weight adds up like nothing ever has.  The more my body grows, the more empty I feel.  The more space I take up the more invisible I am.
I’m lost.  I don’t know what to do next. Every time I restrict/diet, the viscious cycle hits me back harder than before. Like whatever I’ve lost adds to the inertia of the return.