People think an eating disorder is turning meals away and bones and healed scars.
They think it’s easy to “just eat” when you’re hungry.
But it’s not it’s not it’s NOT.
It’s arms over stomachs and baggy sweaters and dripping blood mixing with tears on the bathroom floor and drowning in the numbers flowing through your head and hollow cheeks and hollower eyes and fear of being found out and fear of not being found out and the need for control and the loss of control and being filled with barbed wire whenever anyone asks what you’ve eaten today.
It’s fighting and crying and disappointing your loved ones because you can’t just STOP and you know it’s wrong but being empty, being in control, feeling like this seems to be right.
It sucks you in and will never you let you out, no matter how much you kick and scream and fight.
Because that’s what it is. A fight.
Your logical mind that wants to keep you alive is in a battle with your emotional mind, and emotions aren’t above cheap shots.
It’s laying awake looking at people “more disordered” than you and feeling disgusted in them but even more so in yourself because you want to be that and you’re NOT.
It’s the way your heart sinks when you see people around you fall in, but not knowing what to do about it because you’d be a hypocrite.
It’s wanting to get better but not, at the same time.
It’s needing to rationalize every single thing you put in your body, needing to know the numbers, needing to achieve some unattainable goal and the conquest will leave you bruised and bloody and sobbing and feeling like a failure when you can’t be a weight that would make you a corpse.
It’s drinking enough water to fill a million swimming pools but it’s still not enough to fill the void inside you, growing needier and louder and angrier.
It’s wanting to weigh the same as a small child and making that NORMAL in your mind.
It’s pretend bites and food in napkins and making yourself love green tea because the internet told you too.
It’s pinching and poking and staring and hating every inch of yourself, this person you’re supposed to cohabitate with, to BE, that you can’t stand.
It’s aching to be somebody, ANYBODY else, because the person you see will never be good enough.
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