Appetite for destruction

Have you ever taken the national free online test for your stress, anxiety and depression level? Well, I have and that’s why I’m telling you about it. My results weren’t surprising, but just FYI:


Am I proud of these results? Hell no. But they unfortunately don’t concern me either, and that’s one the reasons why I’m starting to wonder what I’m actually doing here. I am certainly aware that I’ve been relapsing for a while because my anxiety has come back and it’s my way of compensating the terrifying worries about what my future holds (or doesn’t hold) for me, but what am I actually aiming for with what I’m doing? There is a quote I found on Tumblr a long time ago that said ‘the only thing I’m good at is destroying myself’ and I always considered it one of those wannabe-profound teenage depression attention-seeking things, but I am unfortunately starting to realize that there is something way too true about it I cannot deny. Even though I quit inflicting wounds on my own body years ago (despite the scars still being far too visible to the world), I still get a certain kind of satisfaction from harming myself in other ways that is definitely not good for me. I am fully capable of realizing what I’m doing and what consequences my actions will or will not have, but I occasionally purposely do something harmful regardless because of the feeling it gives me.

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For instance, let’s talk about this year’s Halloween. Actually, it was really nice. My best friend stayed at my place for the night and so did my sister’s best friend, so we watched the entire Scream quadrilogy together because I love it and it’s the perfect horror movie series for people who don’t know too much about horror movies and get scared or grossed out too easily (not me, but my sis and friend). We had wine and snacks- and that’s where the happiness ends. Snacks. Yay. I obviously couldn’t ask them to cut those out because I’m suffering from a relapse regarding my eating disorder at the moment which means that I am absolutely unqualified to handle ‘forbidden’ foods (aka candy and junk food), but my bulimia also makes it impossible for me to stay away from it. So while the others enjoyed themselves, I kept eating big amounts just to then excuse myself for five minutes and quickly purge the entire small binge to have another one. At the end of the night, I was torn between feeling completely relieved, relaxed and satisfied (and actually also grossly proud because I made it), and totally disgusted and repulsed by myself because I sunk so deep again after making so much progress just a few months ago. I threw it all away- what for? How is this gonna make me happy?
It’s not.
But I cannot deny that harming myself this way, realizing that I’m definitely sick again and feeling how my body starts to get exhausted, weak and dizzy also gives me a sick satisfaction. I enjoy ruining myself and that’s wrong on so many levels.
But I can’t stop it either.

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I’ve been obsessed with hating and destroying my body for more than half a decade so far and the only time I was able to stop was when there was a baby inside of me. And as much as I love my son, I’m not planning on ever getting pregnant again, so those times are over and I need to figure out another way, but there doesn’t seem to be one.
I need to lose weight. There is no other way.
I don’t have the discipline to starve myself with a family so aware of my sick past and a basement filled with binge and purge foods and I can’t spend all of my time working out either, but I can take small steps. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, but I will be thin again. I don’t have another option anymore.
It’s sad that I’ve been fighting for so long only to end up here again. I know that this will never truly make me happy. My obsession with my weight gives me a motivation and reason to keep going and hold on, but I should choose differently and know better than this. I will never love myself if I keep following this path, but I don’t walk another one because it scares me way too much to change.
My fears are trivial and ridiculous, but they’re always there anyways, telling me how weak, lazy and fat I will be if I dare stop trying to get better. Convincing myself that I’ll never be good enough made me my biggest enemy, but also my biggest reason to never give up. This is sick, but it’s all I’ve got inside of me. It’s the only thing that keeps me from losing my mind.
And that’s sad because I have such a loving and caring family and beautiful son now, but that’s the problem with me: Nothing is ever enough.
I keep going, slowly destructing myself, only to seek a peace in mind I will probably never achieve this way. Maybe happiness is just an illusion to protect ourselves from the horrifying truth that we’re all trivial and nothing is truly worthwhile. Maybe there is no such thing as happiness for smart people in a world like this where there is so much to worry about.
Maybe I’ll find a way to deal with my issues and decide to take the hard road out of hell one day.
The struggle with my mental disorders is like a war: I’ll either win or die fighting.
It’s pathetic, really. But this huge hole inside of me I carefully conceal with a bitchy attitude and faked self-confidence is impossible to fill.
I catch myself thinking that at least it’s good I’m single now and didn’t make the terrible mistake to get back together with my brainless ex this summer because I am truly glad that nobody else is getting involved with the huge (and still growing) issues I’m having with my naked body again. I honestly don’t mind staying alone forever, as tragic as that might sound to some people.
I am utterly alone with myself and as lonely as it gets at night, it’s a good thing because I am intending to never share what’s going on with me with anyone but my counselor. Nobody but her knows that I’m going down again- and that’s how it’s supposed to be. I don’t need the fake concern and worried looks again. I really don’t.

Inspiring Image on We Heart It

This is the calming before the storm
This absolution is always incomplete
It’s always bittersweet

This is where it ends

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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?

What if I was good enough?

My counselor wanted me to answer this question, so I decided to write about it because it’s probably one of the hardest questions I ever had to answer.
To be honest, I never even thought about it.
Being good enough was never even an option for me. Insecurities have been following me for as long as I can remember and while I’ve focused on how to get and be better to feel good enough for many years now, I never let the thought about what would be if it happened sink in. It was too far away, too unrealistic, too pretty to ever become a part of my world.

Why don’t I just accept myself the way I am? Why don’t I just stop destroying myself by thinking that there is something wrong with me when there really isn’t?
The answer is as easy as it is complicated- I’m scared. I’m scared of what might happen. They say “even hell can get comfy once you’ve settled in” and I never realized how true that is until a very short time ago.
I could live my life in heaven, but I’ve decided to create my own hell and even though I’m harming myself and making everything much more complicated than it should be, there’s something in my head that won’t let me change anything about it because I’ve gotten so used to it that I’m terrified of change.

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Do I want to get better? Do I want to recover? Of course I do! But what normal people don’t understand is that distancing yourself from your mental illness can also be scary. It’s not just living with it what’s hard. Abandoning it is too. As much as it hurts, this voice in my head gives me a certain kind of sick comfort because I know it’s always there and I can always rely on it. Does that make sense? In a twisted way, yes. We’re all creatures of habit and although it’s certainly possible to teach an old dog new tricks, it’s exhausting and in need of so much effort and time that nobody wants to do it.
I do want to get out of this endless circle of destruction that consists of making myself feel like crap for stupid reasons, punishing myself for it and feeling like crap again, but I also don’t want to leave my comfort zone and I know that I can’t have both things at the same time. I know how to choose between health and sickness today, but I (sometimes even intentionally) still choose wrong on a regular basis because it gives me a piece in mind that I know won’t last, but creates the illusion that I’m okay for a little while.

I mean, let’s face it: We all live by certain rules. Most of us might not even recognize them, but they’re down there, buried deep in our subconscious, controlling our every move in our lives. Healthy people live by healthy rules, and sick people… Well, we live by rather fucked up rules. We form them throughout our lives due to experiences, surroundings, success, disappointment and emotions. I don’t have a clue why the human mind believes it needs them, but somehow it does. These are mine:

1. Don’t let people get close

That’s probably my most essential rule and perfectly pictures the two-sided sword called my mind:
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Why? When you let people get close, you give them the chance to hurt you. You make yourself vulnerable. And yeah, I know that’s a part of life, but whenever I gave people this opportunity, it ended terrible for me. Not letting anyone get to me means protecting myself from the pain they might inflict. That actually even makes sense, but the thing is: nobody wants to be alone forever. And if you don’t let anyone near you, you ultimately end up utterly alone. You’ll have relationships, but only shallow ones, and your friendships will never be more than simple acquaintances. You will never be able to experience a deep connection if you don’t trust anyone. And not letting someone get close means not trusting them. In the end, this rule only makes me hurt myself, and that’s not the goal I have in mind.

2. Don’t show weakness

And yet again there comes the vulnerability: if you show weakness, you make yourself vulnerable once more. When people see your weaknesses, they can use them to hurt you, and because I’ve experienced that before hundreds of times, my head has prohibited admitting it. Yet again, it makes sense at some point because it protects me, but weaknesses are human and every single one of us has them, whether we admit or deny them. They’re a part of us and even though they might hurt, they’re essential because they remind us that nobody is perfect, even if it looks like they are.
We need them. They make us feel alive because they make us realize what’s important. We need fears to conquer them and grow with them. But I have too many of them and I’m not telling anyone.

3. You’re never enough

This is where we come back to the topic. It’s probably my worst rule because it makes it impossible to love or even accept myself. This rule makes me feel like there’s always something missing. No matter what, I’ll never be good, smart, thin or beautiful enough. Never.

Could I change these rules? I think so. Somehow.
But I can’t.
I’m too scared.
I’ve gotten used to living this way and giving it up might be the healthiest thing to do, but it scares the shit out of me. The way I treat myself is horrible, but I’ve gotten used to it. At some point, you don’t even care that you’re destroying yourself anymore. You don’t know anything else. Giving up on habits is scary, no matter how unhealthy they are.

So, to respond the original question, what would happen?
Would I live the life I really want to live? Get the things I always wanted? Make my dreams come true? Love myself?
Everything would change, that’s for sure, and I don’t even think I’d still be the same person because my entire self centers around the problem with never being enough and not knowing who I am and want to be. A part of me wants to be that person, but another is way too scared to even think of it because there are way too many horror scenarios in my head that picture what might (very unlikely) happen if I stopped beating myself up for who I am: That I would lose control and not try anymore at all. That I wouldn’t fight for anything and turn into a lazy piece of shit. A fat, disgusting waste of space.
Yeah, I know it’s stupid, but I can’t help but feel like this. So many things terrify me.

Fear is only in our minds, but it’s taking over all the time

The voice in my head

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.

confident, Easy, and personality image

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.

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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.
What for?
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?

This speaks from my soul…

I’ve always had this obsession with the idea of perfection, mostly because it’s so unachievable. Not just in my eating disorder, but in my academics, social life, and more. Perfection was what got me in the hospital. Perfection was what got me sick. I emulated perfection only to make myself vulnerable to its destructive temptations. […]

via How Perfect — Angie’s Blog

The demons won’t drown, but neither will I.

Things are tough again and I’m struggling really hard to make it through the days. Sometimes I think about letting myself sink into it again because I know that giving in to the disorders would be so much easier, but I can’t do that. There was a time in my life when I didn’t have anything left to lose and when it didn’t seem to matter anymore whether I’d keep going or just give up on everything, but things have changed and now I have a lot to lose and can’t risk it. I’ve fought for way too long to just surrender now and make everything I’ve been through completely useless, and I have my son I love so much that I’m willing to sacrifice everything to make sure he grows up with a mother who’s always there for him, no matter what happens. Besides, even though my future still scares the shit out of me, today I believe that there’s at least a chance of making my dreams come true even though they’re only dreams so far. I’ve seen how much I can do when I stay strong. There is so much more to accomplish in this life. I don’t want mental illnesses to take away my possibilities of going to college, graduating, getting a great job and building a life for me and my son. This shit in my head isn’t worth sacrificing everything for. Everything I’ve been through is getting me closer to where I want to be. Who I want to be.


Right now, I’m a total mess. My mood constantly goes up and down, I don’t think I’ve hated my body this much in years, eating is torture as well as the mirror in the bathroom, I keep losing my shit and my hope, get depressed and angry and doubt and criticize myself more than anyone I know. Right now, I feel awful, but there’s a difference between feeling awful now and before having a kid: Now I keep going regardless. I keep fighting. That’s the difference.


I’ve now learned that you can’t choose how you feel when suffering from depression, but how you handle the feelings: You can either let them take over and pull you down or you can force yourself to move on even though they make you feel like there’s nothing left to do that for. It doesn’t matter how often we fall. I feel like falling all the time. But I’m getting back up.

No, I can’t handle all of it. I can’t put on a bikini and it’s pathetic that I’m sitting in our apartment when there’s a great pool in the garden where my family spends their entire vacation without me. Am I a coward for not facing my fears and body image issues and wearing that bikini to defeat what I’m afraid of? Yes. But am I weak? No.

I’m just not ready for it yet. And that’s okay.


Maybe I won’t make it through this vacation. Maybe I’ll have to ask my mom to borrow me the money to get away from here sooner with Jamie and get home because I won’t be able to stand being here anymore. Maybe.

But no matter what, I know one thing for sure: Even if I can’t handle this, I won’t give up on recovery. Relapses hurt like hell and they occur all the time, but I carry on. 

This is not over yet. Dear mental illnesses, prepare yourselves for the fight that’s coming because I won’t go down without one. I’m not the little girl anymore I was when you came to me. I know you’re still able to pull me down every day a few times, but I’m getting stronger as I get back on my feet every time. 

Nobody ever said this was easy.

No one ever said it would be this hard.

I’ll break down, but will I give up? Hell no. Yeah, I’m depressed, but I can assure you of one thing: I’m not weak.

Glamorization of mental illnesses

Yeah, I’m fully aware that about a thousand people have already made their rants about this topic, but I really don’t care. It’s tragic that we spent years trying to raise awareness for these disorders and now we have the attention we needed and instead of realizing how serious this issue is, (especially young) people suddenly think it’s something you should be happy to suffer from. Isn’t the word ILLNESS enough to understand that it’s not something you should want? Obviously not. Somehow, stupid kids think that’s it’s cool, glamorous or special to suffer from disorders. How can you be SO blind?

A few examples…

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I really can’t believe my eyes when reading this. Whoever wrote this admitted that it’s a disease and explained that it can’t not be beautiful to suffer from it. Right. So just because someone suffers from cancer doesn’t mean they that tumors aren’t cool, right? Is it inappropriate to make this analogy? Probably. But is it appropriate to state that starving yourself to death for a distorted body image is beautiful? No. Anorexic people destroy their bodies systematically for an illusion in their heads that isn’t, has never been and will never be real and there is absolutely nothing beautiful about sacrificing your entire life to become a walking skeleton you won’t even see in the mirror. And believe me, they don’t think that’s beautiful either. And you know why? Because anorexia is a disorder.

But there’s another great thing: Merchandise.

Really, Urban Outfitters? Is suffering from an illness that makes people take their own lives so great that you need to print it on a shirt?

And another reason why I love this store… Isn’t it bad enough that this model looks like she’ll be admitted to the hospital tomorrow? Do you also need to make her wear the statement?

And how about this beautiful necklace that’s been tagged with being ‘pastel’ and ‘grunge’? Yeah, it’s so great to feel like hiding in your room for your entire life because even the smallest social interactions terrify you.

Mental Illness T-Shirt

Don’t we ALL love it when something invisible destroys our lives every day?

It might not be Christmas yet, but didn’t Target sell a nice holiday sweater last year? Why shouldn’t we joke about the constant checking, repeating, cleaning and obsessing? Cause, you know, it’s funny.

But unfortuely, this is not where the glamorization ends. The Internet is the best source for it:

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Maybe we’ll see how many hearts it takes to starve to death!

grunge

How much we all love insomnia. 

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Never give up until you’re either dead or chained to the hospital bed!

skinny, thin, and thinspo image

(on the road to destruction)

acid

We’re SO cool.

girl, skinny, and thinspo image

Who cares you’re dying as long as your bones are showing?

quote

(yay, we’re sick!)

I can’t even put it into words what I think about such pictures. They make me speechless and that’s rather rare for me. It’s just… Why? Why is this considered desirable to be mentally sick? Why do they think sicknesses are worth striving for? What is wrong with this world and this generation?

Things nobody tells you about mental disorders

Today’s pop culture has created a certain image of the life with mental disorders, but there are many parts all those books, movies and songs never mention, things even people with the illnesses often don’t even realize.

1. Choosing recovery
Yes, recovery is a choice everyone can make, but people always make it look like you do that once and for all and then there might be this or the other relapse and then you’re on a rollercoaster that only goes up, right? Well, that’s not how it works. Recovery is not something you decide for once, but every day. And that’s what makes it so hard. Every time you’re being confronted with the triggers of your disorder, you need to make the choice again. Will I choose the easy way and just give in to the voice in my head or will I do the right and hard thing and fight it? You know that giving in will give make you feel relaxed, comfortable and peaceful for a while (unlike fighting it which will make you feel stressed and anxious), but you also know that it will destroy you. That’s why you chose recovery in the first place. You don’t want the disorder to destroy you. But it’s so much easier, isn’t it? For instance, one of my biggest triggers is food and I need to make the choice to either starve, binge, purge or eat healthy and normal every single day and it doesn’t get easier. Not at all.

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2. How hard the simplest things can be

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One example: summer. It’s July, really hot and sunny, and everyone I know loves spending their spare time swimming, tanning and relaxing at the lake. Well, everyone but me. I love swimming and spending time with my friends and family, but besides the fact that I hate the heat, tanning and sunshine in general, short clothes make me feel nothing but terrible. I hate my body. The stretch marks, the weight, the scars… I can’t wear anything that shows more than my arms and decollete, and therefore shorts or, even worse, bikinis, are absolutely impossible. Sucks. And the hardest part will be our vacation at the end of the summer which will be, yay, in Italy. One of the most beautiful countries in the world, but also one of the countries where you can’t wear jeans in August, especially not at the beach or pool. Thanks, eating disorder. Everyone is excited about their vacation and I’m scared as hell.

3. The magical cure named counseling
Isn’t it what everyone expects? You show up for your appointments, cooperate, do what the therapist wants and then you’re automatically better because, you know, that person has studied this and is getting a shit load of money for treating you. But unfortunately, that’s not how it works either. Yes, counseling will help you, but it will not cure you. Regardless of how much time you spend with your therapist, you still need to work on yourself even more. Those people can only listen to your problems, give you advice and make you realize what you’re doing and why you’re doing it, but they can’t solve anything. Unfortunately, the only one who can save you is you.

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4. How hard living with such a disorder is
Mental illnesses don’t take breaks. They don’t show up and disappear when it’s convenient. They’re always there, every second, every minute, every hour, every day, and it never ends. Why don’t people realize that there’s nothing harder than fighting a war inside your own head all the time?

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5. No, just because I’m fine doesn’t mean I’ll always be

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Yeah, there are good days, but there are also bad ones. I might be okay today, but I’ll probably break down tomorrow because one good day doesn’t mean that everything is over and will always be awesome. That’s not how it works. That’s not how easy it is.

6. That there’s nothing romantic, beautiful or glamorous about it

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Depression is not sitting on the rooftop at night with a cigarette Lana Del Rey songs. It’s lying in your bed at the middle of the night wondering how long you’ll be able to handle feeling so frozen inside, like there’s nothing left of you.

Anorexia is not a skinny pretty girl refusing a piece of cake for her bikini body. It’s a voice in your head that makes you feel like you will never be good enough until you’ve starved yourself to death.

Anxiety is not burying your face in your lover’s chest being told that everything will be okay. It’s a constant terrifying fear that makes even the smallest things impossible to handle.

Oh, and then there are those people who post their self harm wounds because the blood is so inspiring and beautiful and whatever.

Like, seriously?

Why the fucking hell do people think it’s cool or special to suffer from a disorder? What. Is. Wrong. With. You?

“I’m okay” That’s what you need to hear, isn’t it?

bad, sad, and quote image
I never thought it would be so easy to slip back into an eating disorder. Everything was fine during the whole pregnancy and while I was breastfeeding and then… Then they came back, all those thoughts about my body. Small and quiet at first, but then louder and more painful with every single day until I couldn’t resist it anymore. And now, well, I haven’t told anyone yet, but I’m bulimic again. Not nearly as bad as it used to be, actually ridiculous compared to what I went through before my son, but still I binge and purge between five and ten times per week. Like I said, nothing compared to the fifty to hundred times per week I was used to two or three years ago, but yeah, it sucks. And it scares the shit out of me. I know what it did to me once and what it might do to me again and even more important, that it could get worse again.
And the scariest part is telling someone because that would mean admitting that I’m not as strong as I am on the outside and I don’t want anyone to see my weaknesses. It would mean admitting that I have a problem again.
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I don’t know what to do. Whenever I eat, my thoughts start racing and I feel worthless and guilty. After everything I’ve gone through, this is where I end up.
Ah, and I keep thinking about starvation again. Not that I’ll do it, I can’t because I know people will notice. They will because I won’t just stop ‘there’. That’s not how it works. Sure, you think you know how far you can go, where your limit is, where you reach the point when you’ll be like ‘now I’m skinny enough’, but that won’t happen. You’ll never realize it. You’ll set your goal, reach it, tear it down and build it again five pounds lower on the scale, over and over again, without even realizing you’re killing yourself. An eating disorder is basically slow suicide without noticing it.
You believe the lies that one day, you’ll be enough, but that won’t happen. It won’t be enough for the eating disorder until you’re six feet under. So why am I doing this? I know where it gets people and where it got me once, but I do it anyway.
Maybe the idea of accepting my body the way it is now (which is normal and healthy, but not skinny anymore) is even more frightening than the idea of destroying my body all over again. I actually want to accept and love myself the way I am because I know that there’s nothing wrong with me and that self hate is wrong and useless, but I just can’t. Deep down, I’m afraid that accepting things as they are will make me weak, lazy and incapable, so no matter what I do, I can’t get the idea of never being good enough out of my head. I spend the late evenings binging and purging until I’ve got red eyes and a runny nose, hoping that, at some point, I’ll be able to accept things I can’t or I’m not supposed to change.
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But I’ll probably never reach this point. There’s this barrier in my head my dad built the foundations for and I built the rest of it brick by brick over the years and this barrier makes it impossible for me to settle down and just be satisfied. It’s this thing in there that tells me that nothing is ever enough and even if I was able to tear it down, I’d be to scared to do it.
Two days ago, I was told that I’ve passed all of my finals and will graduate at the end of the month (but that’ll be only for 10th grade because I’ve missed a whole school year a couple years ago and because Germany’s school system is far more complicated than the American and to get a real high school diploma I’ll need to apply for college, I’ll have to continue studying from home for four more years – which means I won’t be able to attend college till I’m 21 – in September while my son will be in daycare until noon on weekdays).

Anyway, I’ve taken a huge step and reached a huge goal by graduating from this school already and I actually did a really good job and everyone is proud of me and I was looking forward to being too… But I’m not. I don’t know how much time I’ve spent trying to convince myself that I have every reason to be proud of myself and that I’ve accomplished more than half the people I know who have half the problems I have, but the barrier won’t ever let me be proud of myself because it tells me there’s still something missing. And I keep telling myself I’ll feel this pride after the actual high school diploma and college and stuff, but who am I trying to convince here? It doesn’t matter what I do. I won’t love myself.
So I keep fighting and hoping and until then, I’ll have to deal with feeling worthless. But I’m okay, right? “We’ll just have to act like everything’s fine.” That’s all that matters. I focuse on the positive things and swallow the emptiness that makes me feel like dying inside. Smile, stay strong and don’t give up. There’s no other way.
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In the hardest times we grow the most

You wouldn’t understand, so what’s the use?

Depression sucks. Yeah, I know that’s nothing new. But the worst thing about depression is not the disease itself but that it always comes back. I felt so good for so many months. For the first time, I could honestly answer “I’m fine” when people asked me how I was feeling. But then it happened. I went back to school and fell apart all over again. I don’t want any fucking pity, but it’s just not fair, you know? You fight for years and then you think it’s finally over and you finally get to be happy and then… it’s all gone. And you feel like dying again. There’s this pain inside of me and it won’t go away, regardless of what I do. I try so hard, but it won’t change anything.

I had everything. And lost it all.

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I wish I could just give up. Stop trying. Stop fighting. I feel like shit and all I can do is feel it. I wake up every morning and I get up and get through the day and I’m scared I might collapse the next second because I don’t think I can make it through. And somehow I do because I keep my shit together and don’t show how I feel. Sure, I could tell about my feelings. But nobody would understand, so what’s the use? Depression is so hard to understand because it’s invisible. The other people around you don’t have any proof that you’re actually sick even though you are. And you could tell them about it. I did. But the only reactions I got were pity, dumb questions or how I could even be depressed because my life is s great now. Yeah, thanks, I’m aware of that. I know my life is great. I have almost everything I wanted and I love my family and especially my son more than anything, but I’m still not happy.

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People tell me we just need to BE happy because we’re the ones to choose how we want to feel, but they seem to forget that we’re not happy because we didn’t choose to be but because we’re sick. We all want to be happy, but we somehow can’t. It’s all in my head, I know, but that doesn’t make it any less real. God, I want to be happy more than anything (I mean, who likes feeling like shit?), but all I feel is this hopelessness. I still keep going because of my son, but if he wasn’t here, I’d give up and let the shit in my head take over. I’d let myself drown in it because it’s so much easier and fighting obviously won’t get me anywhere either. I’m not doing this for myself anymore because it looks like I can’t be saved. I know that the only one who can save me is me, but I do everything I can and I still don’t feel better. I use skills, do things that make me happy, try to focus on better stuff, distract myself, spend all of my time with my son , mom and sister and I don’t feel any better. I’m not suicidal or feel like harming myself anymore (the last time was almost two years ago), but I feel like drowning and there’s no way to learn how to swim. Why is there such a thing called depression? Why am I suffering from this disorder? I know it all started with my eating disorder which I developed because my dad has always made me feel like I’ll never be good enough (and even though he’s gone, I still can’t get that pattern out of my head), but WHY? I know people who had to go through much worse stuff and they don’t have any disorders. Why do I have it? And why can’t I recover? My counselor keeps telling me these things take time, but it’s been more than half a decade and I’m tired and sick of it. There is nothing more exhausting, nothing harder than fighting your thoughts. Since the relapse started, I’ve been so extremely tired that I could basically sleep anywhere if I let myself. ‘Normal’ people don’t know what it’s like to fight your own mind 24/7. To feel like you’re losing yourself, to feel trapped in your emptiness.

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To stand in front of the mirror and hate every single inch of yourself and you want to fall on your knees and cry until your throat is sore, but you know that would only make things worse, so you don’t. Instead, you breathe deeply and tell yourself not to let it take over. To stay strong. You’re still alive, right? But can you stay strong? Is it even possible? Just smile, you think. Smile and they’ll think you’re alright. Don’t tell them the truth because they wouldn’t understand. They’d think you’re mad, ungrateful, a bad mom or overreacting, right? So just keep your mouth shut and act like everything is fine. Because it has to be. There’s no other way. Life isn’t fair.

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