These days, when people ask me how I feel, I don’t know what to answer anymore. Of course I always tell everyone that I’m just tired and fine besides that, but am I fine? I’m a mess, but that’s not a condition or feeling.
Eating is getting harder again. I’d come so far with my recovery that I was able to feel happy and relaxed while eating and do it in a normal and healthy way, but that’s definitely over. Food makes me panic again and I always struggle between eating and not-eating because I know that I’m hungry and my body wants and needs it, but I don’t want it. It tastes good for a moment, but afterwards I feel terrible. Even if it’s just fruits or a salad, it makes me feel guilty, hopeless and depressed and brings back so much self-hatred that I can hardly handle it. I never fall apart because I strictly and resolutely hold on to my daily schedule and rituals, but I don’t know if any of my smiles are fake or real.
How lost am I that I don’t even know if I’m pretending not to be anymore?
If I can’t feel, I’m not mine, I’m not real
I guess that’s what I’m feeling. Like I don’t belong to myself anymore.
But who or what do I belong to instead?
I’m being torn apart by the things I love and hate, the stuff I want to hold on to and let go of. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.
Sure, the rational part of my brain wants me to exercise less, accept and love myself, dress in a way that makes me comfortable, stop focusing on negative stuff, be honest, stay strong and eat normally, but there’s this other part that keeps winning. The darker part. The part that seduces me with sweet promises and pictures of what I want to have so badly. The part that swears it’ll lead me to the perfection I’ve always wanted even though the rational part knows that it’s an illusion that can never come true. I don’t know how I’m supposed to handle this.
Sure, I smile, but every time I look into the mirror, everything I despise in the world comes to life again. I shouldn’t hate my body because there’s nothing wrong with me, but I can’t help feeling like there is.
It’s far too easy, slipping back into the eating disorder. A daily run, a few skipped meals, a few more calories counted and calculated, a few more lies, a few more times I think before I enter the kitchen. And just like that, I’m back where I was and everything I’ve achieved on my way to recovery concerning the ED is gone.
I’m now determined to lose weight again because I can’t stand myself, but is a diet going to solve any of my problems? No.
I’m afraid I’ll never love myself and that scares me because I don’t want to hate myself so much. Still, the part that promises me how much better my life will be once I’m skinny again and no longer have a normal weight keeps winning.
I keep struggling with food, eating, starving, binging, purging, exercising.
For a peace of mind I’ll never achieve.
I’m suffering for an illusion and there’s no way to save myself from it.
How could it come to this? How could I relapse so deeply again?
Who am I and what’s happening to me?