The day the binge monster came to town

After the midnight hot chocolate, I got to 3 a.m without submitting to the building binge urge. Then a late night trip to Tesco was in order to put me out of my misery, having already 'decided' the day was lost. An elevenses ginger bake bar, a small chocolate Lindt bunny, two slices of cinnamon raisin toast with jam, four crisps, a bottle of diet limeade and a violent purge later, I didn't feel tired at all. I didn't feel even slightly sleepy until 6 a.m and don't know when I fell asleep. Waking up every couple of hours, I got up at 5.20 to feel Simon shuddering into a hypo. Fucking diabetics. Always trying to die. In my bed. Cock. It was a particularly horrible episode; he wouldn't stop shaking even when I forcefed him sugar by the spoonful. Needless to say, seeing Simon nearly dying and not being able to stop it, I panicked considerably and screamed for my mother. Pouring juice and milk with more sugar dissolved in it did the job after about fifteen minutes of his violent shaking and inability to swallow. Sugar and milk spilled all over my bed and while my mother was 'helping' all she could talk about were the sheets; how messy they were and how I had better clean them or there'd be hell to pay. While Simon was dying. Grr.
Half six (ish), when Simon was alright to drive again, another trip to Tesco yielded a cheese twist, a mini pork pie and ingredients for cherry pie. Two slices of garlic sausage, a mouthful of cookie dough, a quarter of a bowl of cherry pie with cream and a bottle of diet limeade followed by a monster purge gave a comforting black hole of numbness to almost end the day. The purge was a significant percentage more liquidy than usual and I got everything up. I mean everything, and all the mucus in my nose and even my tears seemed to taste of proper vomit; the uncontrolled kind that infects you and makes you carry the stench for a long time. Usually, I can still taste the binge food on the way up but I think the cream made for a bad day and I could only taste acid and bile the whole time :/. A couple of hours later, I ate four slices of toast (3 with pate and 1 with jam) without purging. Yay me? Or was I just afraid of being reinfected after vigorous washing?
The episode of Buffy where her mother dies had me crying the entire hour. Pathetic much? Or emotionally taxing watching Simon having a fit? And arguing with him about his stupid eating patterns afterward for a long time and getting nowhere.
I looked up Overeaters Anonymous and the nearest one is either Lancaster or Manchester. I might go but maybe I'll wait until later in therapy? I've been reading a book about addiction and addictive tendencies (including eating disorders) and it's approach is quite interesting. Maybe I'll be fighting this genetic predisposition for my entire life; however short it may be.