Hell is so close to heaven

The longer you walk the line between recovery and relapse, the more it starts to fade. I’ve wanted to recover since I realized my disorders were actually killing me in a way I didn’t want to die three years ago, but the doctors never tell you how hard that can actually be. People who never felt the way I do wouldn’t understand it if I told them that it’s hard for me to let go of my sicknesses. That there are actually parts I feel like I need in my life.
Lately, my relationship with food has been difficult again and I’m starting to lose track of the difference between healthy and sick behaviors. I’m starting to let my feelings take over me again, and being a BPD patient, my feelings are usually not exactly trustworthy. Somehow I manage to have the exact same breakfast every morning and never skip or make it smaller or larger, but as soon as the morning has passed by, things start to get difficult. My feeling of satiety has disappeared again, so I never know whether I’m hungry or just thinking too much about food again and struggle with eating or not eating a snack until noon. If I manage to not have one, I’m proud, if I only eat fruits, I can deal with it, but if it’s anything else, guilt tears me apart because I don’t believe I deserve any high-caloric snacks. Someone skinny can eat that. Someone skinny can allow themselves these things. But not me.  Not me.


Lunch is just another term for tearing myself up again. My stomach screams and my body needs food, so I need to eat something, right? But what? It needs to be something healthy and balanced with all of the nutrients and shit I need, but it can’t make me fat. But a meal like that doesn’t exist. So I create something with some veggies, carbs and proteins I don’t need to prepare for too long because I don’t want to spend so much time with the food, finish it as fast as possible and try to drown out the voice of guilt that showed up again at some point a few months ago and has refused to leave since. I hate the voice and can’t even put it into words how glad I was when it was gone, but as horrible as it makes me feel, it also gives me comfort because it creates the illusion that I’m in control.
It drives me crazy that I’m so obsessed with my goddamn weight again, but I refuse to change something about it. I hate being like this, but I can’t imagine going back to normal. Spending my days hungry, guilty, binging and purging or eating healthily from time to time is making me sick, but there is no other option because I can’t give up on this.
I hate my eating disorder, but I’m lost without it again.
When did I make myself so dependent again?


The line I’ve drawn between recovery and relapse is clearly visible now, and I’m not just walking, but dancing on it because I can’t choose a side.
I can’t go back to the sick life I once lead because I don’t want to die anymore, and I can’t say goodbye to them either because that terrifies me just as much.
I need some sort of comfort and stability in my head and this is the only one I’ve got with my incapability of maintaining a healthy relationship and all of my issues and anxieties. My messed up head needs the illusion of being in control and my disorders are the only thing that could ever make me feel like I have at least some of it.
I’m not happy, but not sad either, not pretty, but not ugly, not skinny, but not fat, not healthy, but not sick, not crazy, but not sane. I’m just stuck somewhere in between, impossible to figure out.
When people tell me I’ve lost weight, I smile because I noticed it when I put on my pants this morning, but my smile fades when I realize there’s so much left to lose, and I wonder where my real goal is. Where am I going with this? Who and where do I want to be some day? Will any of the things happening now matter then?
Or am I just driving myself crazy again?
There’s a quote in one of my favorite movies of all time (I got a tattoo dedicated to it this summer) that says “Nothing is trivial”, but is that true?
Does any of the stuff in my head really matter?
Do I?
And why are we all so desperate to always get and be more than we have and are? Why can’t anything be ever enough?

In the middle of a dream
On the darkest night
Woke up in a scream
Thought I’d lost my sight
Who you selling for tonight?

Complains I’d never speak out loud.

We complain all the time. All of us, me included. About bad weather, about not having the food we want in the fridge, about people who are late and appointments we don’t want to attend, about missing out on something or needing to do things you don’t want to do. But the things that should really bother us, those are the ones we don’t say anything against. When saying that, I’m aiming at a variety of topics, including politics, social issues and economic problems, but because this is a blog about mental disorders, I will solemnly focus on my own problems with this topic and not the ones we generally┬ástruggle with in our society.
So… Let’s start by stating that I usually don’t let people notice when I’m depressed because I know that they’ll either worry or ask inconvenient questions (or both) and I prefer avoiding these things, so whenever I feel bad in any way and know that I can’t mask it with a faked smile, I just focus on anger and only let that feeling show because it’s easy for me to make rage the strongest emotion. That way, I prevent breaking down, crying or opening up to people and manage to make it through the day, but it’s needless to say that this way of alleviating a problem also implicates that unpleasant consequence that I behave like a total bitch.
And because I don’t explain the real reasons to anyone and therefore don’t seem to have any reasons to be like this, the people around me think of me as this bad person. I manage to stay cool in public, but I often can’t pretend at home and now my family thinks I’m a moody dumb teenager. Which I’m not. But I can’t explain what’s really behind my attitude, so whenever my mom or sister tell me how much it bothers them that I behave so horribly, I don’t really know how to react and mostly don’t react at all.
It really sucks, though. I don’t want them to think of me like this. This isn’t who I am. But my mood keeps going up and down and I don’t know a better way to deal with it at the moment without falling apart.
I wish I could just tell them what’s really going on. What really bothers me.
That the real problem aren’t hormones, but relapses.
That the huge amounts of candy and junk food in our basement don’t keep me from starving myself, but make me binge and purge because I’m fucking weak and can’t stand that temptation.
That I’m not trying to live healthier because of how much I care about myself, but because I hope that it will make the eating disorder’s voice at least a little quieter and help me not to feel so terribly guilty after every bite.
That I don’t work out to be more balanced, but to be able to stand my own reflection.
I wish I could just talk about everything, but I know that I can’t. I’m far too scared and ashamed of my thoughts. Despite knowing these are disorders and not my fault, I can’t help but feeling like I brought this all on myself with my sick obsession with perfection that will never, ever get me anywhere but six feet under.
One side of me wants to finally live healthy and normal, but the other one is terrified of letting go of these doubts and people tend to let fear take over themselves when they don’t feel confident.
I’m not a moody bitch.
I’m a bitch who doesn’t even remember what it’s like to accept, let alone love herself.
And that scares me too, because it wakes this horrifying thought in me that, no matter how many A’s I score, no matter how many pounds I lose, how many times I succeed or how many smiles I see on my son’s face that prove that I’m a great mother, I’ll always, always keep hating myself secretly for reasons that would never make any sense in a sane person’s mind.