The first relapses of 2017

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Yes, they happened. And yes, I knew that they would. But still, it really, really sucks. I’m not entirely sure why it happened. Maybe I had just been keeping my shit together for too long and had to break down for once. Maybe.
Anyways, it started at the end of last week when the familiar feeling of longing overcame me and I began to miss my best friend again whom I lost in late summer 2012. I don’t know if it’s possible to completely get over the loss of someone close to you, but I know that I never did, so occasionally the pain of losing her hits me really hard and that’s what happened that evening. And when the grief returns, it doesn’t knock at the door and asks if it can come on- it crashes down on me like a wave and takes away my breath. That night, I spent hours on the tiled floor with my hands on my mouth, trying so hard to cry to be able to feel some relief, but all I got was a pain in my chest so intense that it felt like a heart attack. These panic attacks my grief causes have been haunting me for years and I often thought about talking about them to my counselor, but never did and when they stopped at the end of last year, I figured they might be over, but I was obviously wrong and now I’m guessing I really will have to finally talk about them because I can’t take them anymore.

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But, of course, that panic attack wasn’t the end of it, because when I relapse, it’s usually more intense than that.
My best male friend spent a night at my place, we watched AHS when my son was asleep in his bed and drank wine and vodka together. I felt the need to relax for once which is why I drank. And I knew about the consequences. When I drink, I never get sick, slur my words or stumble around like an idiot as long as I’m not extremely intoxicated, but what I do is get really touchy feely.
A while ago, I read that drunk people do things they want to do, but would never dare to actually do sober. And that’s me AF.
I’m a lonely person. I want to be closer to people, open up, talk, share, hug, cuddle, kiss, make out and have sex, but I don’t do any of these things because shutting others out is safer when you’re afraid of getting hurt, trusting too much or have body image issues, and I have all of the above.
But as expected, I threw those morals out the window with the vodka in my veins and my friend and I made out heavily and almost had sex. Almost.
And as expected, I regret it. We’re still friends and at least I don’t think this has damaged our relationship since we’re not into each other and were simply drunk (this happened before a few years ago and didn’t affect our friendship), but it still sucks that I can’t keep my damn hands and vagina to myself when I have guys around that I like and a few too many drinks in my stomach.
Anyways… That whole incident fueled my body image issues and discomfort with myself, so when my team lost the Sunday night football game, I needed some form of outlet for all those unpleasant feelings stored up inside of me to make myself feel better and finally relax.
The problem is: I know what I should have done. I know exactly how to behave in certain situations and how to be safe and protect myself from distorted behaviors, and yet I purposely decided not to do these things and repeat the old sick patterns by binging and purging for the first time after three weeks.
Afterwards, I was definitely able to feel extremely calm and no longer stressed at all because that’s unfortunately the positive effect the ED behaviors have on me (they make me feel safe, calm and secure), but I also felt horribly guilty towards my body and my recovery, and furthermore, the urge to repeat the whole thing has been getting stronger again since that happened.
My body and I are getting along worse every day and the struggle is getting harder, but I can’t slip again. Both last night and today, I’ve been feeling really down, depressed and hopeless again, but I need to keep going to pull through. It’s the only choice I have if I want this year to finally be different than the previous ones. I can’t let all of this shit repeat itself all over again.
Right now, I hate everything around me and myself and the need to get on a plane and never return is stronger than it’s ever been, but that ain’t gonna happen.
I’ll keep going. No matter what. Even though it really fucking sucks right now.

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Now the rain is just
You’re driving me crazy
I’m washing you out of my hair and out of my mind
Keeping an eye on the world
From so many thousands of feet off the ground
I’m over you now
I’m at home in the clouds and towering over your head

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This year can ACTUALLY be better

When I was a child, I loved Christmas. Loved the excitement, the preparations, decorations, smells, tastes, baked goods, dishes, wishes, books, movies, and, of course, the gifts that really brought the Christmas spirit into my heart. Over the years, I unfortunately slowly began to realize that Christmas actually isn’t nearly as awesome as we always expect it to be every year.
Countless songs and movies and weeks of stress all for an event that could never reach my high expectations seemed a little odd, and it disappointed me even more that the magnificent holiday harmony never really made it into our house since everyone annually tried their best to be nice, but ended up being just as bitchy and up for fights as they did the other eleven months of the year. The older I grew, the more my love for the legendary event faded until I recently decided I actually hate it.
So much money, horrible music, stupid stories, cheesy decor and films, complicated meals and days filled with nothing but stress all for the desperate attempt to pretend to be a happy perfect family and be kind to each other? We need one day we spend hugging our families, give each other presents and donate to charity and then we don’t give a damn for the rest of the year? Why? Why make such a huge deal out of that one day that’s never as great as they portray it on TV?
Honestly, I just find the whole thing really annoying today. I’m not even Christian and even if I were, the whole Christmas thing doesn’t have much to do with Christianity anyways considering it’s all about the food and wrapped new things, and nobody really cares about Jesus who was born in summer.

This year, I tried my best to get my family the perfect things, make a nice vegan meal my eating disorder could somehow forgive me for, look and act festive, smile, laugh, pretend to love everything and everyone and not talk about politics, but Christmas Eve ended up being the usual disaster anyways despite my desperate attempts and not screwing anything up.
My father spent the afternoon at our place which put me under such enormous pressure and made me feel so awful that I actually cried and purged in the shower and covered it up with some makeup afterwards to not ruin the mood, but when he decided to stay for Christmas dinner, I could no longer take it and kindly expressed that I’d prefer him to (finally) go- which ended up making me look like a mean bitch and him leaving angry and offended.

We (my mom, sister and baby) actually had a great time together unwrapping gifts for each other afterwards (I got some amazing clothes and books and seemed to have bought the perfect items for my folks), but my awfully touchy teenage sister freaked afterwards when we wanted to do the annual Christmas photos which led to an intense fight between the two of them with me right in the middle.
And as usual, I was the one to blame in the end because that’s just how things work in our family. Me being the only one who actively tried to create some harmony then made the others watch a crappy Christmas family movie which led to another fight because my wonderful little sister couldn’t even pay attention for five minutes without taking out her phone to text her friends who obviously didn’t care a lot about their own families either.

I mean, let’s be honest: I could have perfectly lived without Christmas in the first place. If they had listened to me just once, we wouldn’t have celebrated this shit. But because they insisted to be a part of the unnecessary social convention, I at least wanted to do it the right way and not make it the reason for another argument. I at least wanted it to be nice and peaceful.
But we rarely get what we want, so the day ended the way it already did the last few years: With everyone dissatisfied and angry.

The following day was a little better because it was a harmonic one without arguments because everyone was somehow suddenly able to pull themselves together, but what kind of sucked was the fact that we had lunch with my grandma at a restaurant where they pretty much only served meat which caused two problems: 1) My grandma is an extremely religous racist & 2) I’m vegan.
But: I made it through. I felt quite horrible the whole day, but I made it and there was no yelling or crying coming from anyone, so it was definitely better than the previous day.

What I’m telling you now might sound a little rude towards my family, but the only time I really got to enjoy myself during the holidays was when my best friend stayed for the night shortly after Christmas and she and I binge watched Stranger Things the whole night on the couch with red wine. So I guess that was my kind of Christmas. Nothing ‘christmassy’ involved, but I got what Christmas is (or should actually be) about: Happiness, peace, relaxation, harmony and fun with a loved one.
Let’s be positive, right?
If you can’t have a nice Christmas, you can at least have nice holidays afterwards.

Also, my only really close male friend (I usually can’t have friendships with guys without starting a relationship with them) came over for a night and I introduced him to the fabulous world of American Horror Story which was awesome.
Besides, we don’t get to see each other often, so I had missed spending some quality time with him.

And before I had the chance to pause for a moment and recapitulate the year that had passed so much faster than I had expected it to, New Year’s Eve had already arrived and I didn’t have anyone to watch my baby, so I stayed at home.
The thought of that was really depressing at first because it is somehow socially expected from people until the age of thirty to celebrate that day and make it a big party with friends or at a club, but the way the night turned out to be surprised me in the best imaginable way.
I can now honestly say that this was the best New Year’s Eve I’ve had in years. Isn’t that crazy?
I didn’t expect that AT ALL.
While I had spent the previous New Year’s Eve half asleep because my baby had only been a month old and therefore extremely exhausting and tiring, and the others before that partying even though I hate going out with people (I did it just to not be the outsider) and coming home done with my life, planning my suicide and cutting or purging, I really didn’t give a damn about what anyone would think about my way to celebrate this year and didn’t hold any expectations either, and maybe that’s why it turned out to be such a great night.
There is absolutely nothing special, party-like or cool about watching Netflix for the whole night while getting drunk and listening to Mötley Crüe, but who cares?
I don’t! And guess what? I love these things, so I enjoyed the night!
I mean, yeah, I had to actually lock the basement and put away everything that might trigger my eating disorder or depression which sounds ridiculous and made me feel so embarassed that I didn’t tell anyone except my counselor (I mean, I know that it’s because of my mental disorders, but I still feel really weak and like I have a huge lack of self-discipline thinking about it), BUT I MADE IT.
Without a breakdown, without binging, without purging or anything else related to my diseases.

I made it.
I started 2017 happy- for the first time in almost a decade.
I can now say that these holidays didn’t go as planned AT ALL, but they ended way better than I thought they would and I can proudly say that the new year has actually been good so far- for the first time in all these years.
I do struggle every single day (right now, I’m keeping my shit together to not purge the piece of vegan chocolate cake I ate because it wasn’t sugar free and sugar is one of my ‘forbidden’ foods) and it certainly isn’t easy and makes me doubt myself and feel depressed all the time, but I’m trying.
I’m a work in progress. And that’s okay.

Even though I so far haven’t binged or purged this year, I know that I will relapse again at some point. I’ve attempted recovery enough times to know how hard it is and how often failure is a part of it. It’s not a choice you make just once.
But this time, I’m trying anyways. I’m not giving up on myself just because things are hard because I’m now willing to waste another year I could invest to recover to feed my sicknesses instead.
Every day is a fight, but it’s worth it because I want to live the life I deserve with my son and my goals and dreams.
And I know that I can’t have any of it if I decide to give in to my twisted thoughts. Let’s be honest: This year will be tough. I’ll hate myself and my body, I’ll fall, I’ll feel bad, I’ll relapse.
But I’ll get back on my feet somehow because I don’t want to throw away everything I have and can have just because of the lies these voices are telling me about how worthless and weak I am, because I’m not.
This year won’t end with me being healthy and happy.
But it will end with me being healthier and happier than ever before.
Recovery takes a lot longer than 365 days, but 365 days are a good start.
It’ll be worth it.
For my family.
For my son.
And for myself.
I’m more scared than I’ve ever been in my life, but I need to do this in order to get my life back. This time, my resolutions will become reality.

I swear I don’t belong here
But I believe
Don’t tell me this all comes from fear
I promise I’ll be different
There’s nothing left
I’m on my knees surrendering
This can’t be

I didn’t know I lost it all
Didn’t know I’d break and fall
This isn’t who I’m meant to be
There’s so much here that I found missing

Stuck

You’re stuck in the moment
When you thought you were rolling
But you can’t move on
You feel like you’re able
To live past the moment
You can’t move on

I’m currently debating whether I should continue my therapy because I’m beginning to feel like there’s no point in spending so much money for it at the moment. I’m stuck. Totally. I know it, my disorders know it, my recovery knows it, my counselor knows it. And the worst part? I know exactly what’s going on, and yet I’m unable to change the situation despite being the only one who can.
As usual, the problem is my overwhelming fear of leaving my comfort zone and changing something- anything. Being constantly afraid of making things worse doesn’t make recovery a very pleasant process and it looks like I’ve reached a point where I can’t go further without being taken down by my fear.
The situation is pretty much beyond remedy: I’m in the unidentifiable zone between real recovery and a real relapse where I adapt to sick behaviors on a daily basis, but realize that they’re sick and keep them under control and only act them out in a certain way without letting things slip and legitimately harming me or someone else. I’m not sick, but I’m not healthy either.
I eat, but I feel extremely guilty, I bake, but without sugar, I cook, but without oil, I eat candy, but only dark chocolate and DIY stuff (my counselor made me eat normal vegan cookies from the store yesterday and it was awful), I tell people that I’m not perfectly fine, but not how much everything stresses me, I don’t harm my body in any way, but I hate it with all of my heart.
Get my point?
I always manage to have things under control to be able to keep going without having someone notice or getting hurt in the process, but I’m not happy with the way things are.
I don’t even know what I want anymore. Sure, the long-term aims in my life are clear, but what do I want to reach with what I’m doing here and now knowing that it’s not what I actually want or need? And, more importantly, how am I planning to carry on in the future? Will I continue to live like this?
The one and only person who can change something about this is me, that’s something I realized over the years.
But I refuse to because the idea of letting go of the patterns I’ve been holding on to for such an incredibly long time frightens me. When saying that I don’t remember being satisfied and happy with my achievements and appearance, I’m not exaggerating. The thought of not being good enough has manifested so deeply that I’ve adapted to the self-proclaimed ‘fact’ that there is no way to ever change something about it, and distancing myself from this concept would turn everything upside down. Over the years, you unfortunately start to identify yourself with your disordered thoughts. Who and what am I without them? Can I risk pushing them away? Will I be left with nothing? Will I be nothing? Lose control, become invisible, gain weight, fail everything?
I don’t know. And as unrealistically as all of my fears are, they’re there and because they won’t go away, I won’t change. I’ve settled in my own little hell and as crazy as it sounds, it’s gotten quite comfortable with time because I’ve gotten so used to it.
Do I enjoy living like this?
Hell no.
Am I willing to change?
Unfortunately, no.
Because there is nothing scarier than the unknown.
So I’m stuck here, unknowing what to do with myself and my life, trying to make it through without losing myself in this chaos I’ve created. I can’t even tell anyone about this because it’s just beyond ridiculous and stupid. I could choose happiness and yet I choose to suffer because I’m a scaredy-cat. My obsession with a non-existent perfection has made me end up here, and I don’t even know where here is.
Am I giving up? Is that what I’m doing? I don’t think so. I mean, I am keeping my shit together, aren’t I? Hell, I just want to get away from everything here if I’m honest.

Take me away
Let’s get out of this town
Run, baby, run
We’re unstoppable now

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The sick pressure in the sick mind

Okay, so I gotta write down my thoughts right now cause I’m driving crazy.

I have this extremely strong urge to freaking purge everything out of my stomach right now, and it makes me so stressed and anxious because it doesn’t make any damn sense. I mean, yeah, I ate a hell lot. And yeah, I feel really full and bloated and fat and stretched and whatever right now. And yeah, my body is digesting. And yeah, I hate myself for it because it terrifies me. But the thing is: Despite having had a small binge, everything I ate were safe foods. Unsweetened soy yogurt, 1/2 avocado with chili, a banana, 2 clementines, some zucchini and tomatoes with pure herbs and some nuts. Oh, and a bite from smoked tofu and some wheat free pizza crust.
It was a hell lot and I regret that I was so weak, but it was all ALLOWED.
No forbidden foods. At all.
Yet all I feel is this strong sense of hatred, guilt and the unstoppable wanting to puke my god damn guts out until I see blood, my tummy hurts, my hands are bruised, nose running, eyes red and I can finally feel the wonderful relief of the emptiness inside. But I can’t do it even though I want to. Even though the eating disorder makes me believe I should and that it would be the right thing.
Even though I feel fat, disgusting and weak. I need to stay strong because I can’t lose this fight again. I don’t want anything more than to raid all the cupboards, eat all the candy, drink some soda and spend half an hour bending in front of the toilet. It’s pathetic, stupid, sick and useless, and yet I want it more than anything and feel awful for not doing it. It’s like I can feel my stomach expanding and my body getting fatter, and only writing this already makes me feel more repulsed by myself than words could describe. I’m such a stupid, fat, disgusting loser. No strength, no discipline, no success.
It’s wrong to think like this.
But I can’t stop it.
I don’t want to stop it.
It’s the only safety I have in my mind.
If the self-hatred is gone, I don’t know what’s left.
It’s all I remember feeling in terms of myself.

I hate all of this so much.

But I can’t lose. I can’t. I was there before. It could kill me this time and I can’t risk that.

Isn’t it sad that women have fought so long and hard for our rights and equality, and now all our attention is put on being a size zero?

Breaking Point

The last few weeks have been horrible in terms of recovery, or, to say it more bluntly: I’m totally going downhill. While my depression has gotten a little better over the last few weeks, everything about my eating disorder is getting worse day by day. I wish I could say something motivational and/or inspirational, but it’s simply not possible. I’m counting calories again even though I fought so hard at the beginning of last year to quit that, have been restricting them, obsess over my weight from morning to midnight and have binged and purged so hard last week that I was having horrible pains in my belly and throat (and blood in my vomit) I hadn’t had in two years prior. To sum it up: I’ve fucked up again, badly, and I hate it, but can’t stop either, because nothing makes me feel safe and in control around food and my extreme self-hatred. What I’m doing to myself is both horrible and stupid and I feel so guilty because my son shouldn’t have a mom with a mental disorder, but there is literally no other way to deal with the stuff in my head. The last few years in therapy have taught me all kinds of amazing ways to handle all of this, but nothing works right now. Nothing.
I’m not even sad or depressed- I’m just desperate, stressed, anxious and driving crazy. My reflection disgusts me. My weight terrifies me. Food stresses me. My thoughts scare me. And I don’t know what to do.
Sure, I know that I should just get back on track and eat the way normal people do, but that wouldn’t drown out the voice in my head telling me to change something about it, screaming at me how awful I am as a person. I talk to my sister and can’t stop staring at her visible collarbones, I have a normal conversation with my mom and can’t stop wondering what size her jeans are, I walk around in public and compare my body to every other one I see to find out how many people are thinner than me. And I’m scared, so, so scared, and don’t exactly know of what. It’s about being in control, but what am I trying to control and why? And why do I keep losing it? Last week was one of the worst ones in the entire last year. I binged and purged excessively on numerous occasions and lied to everyone about it because I was so ashamed of what I’d done. It all reached its crisis this Monday when I was in the middle of an extremely long and painful purge after a just as extreme binge and stopped to experience a moment of clarity that utterly shocked me as I realized what I was doing. I’d spent the previous days in some kind of trance when nobody else had been around and my sick behavior around food had automatically become my personal form of routine again without giving me a chance to actually actively understand what I was doing to myself.
But in that moment, I did realize it.
And I stopped.
I can’t live like this anymore.
I know where it will take me. I’ve been there before and almost lost everything I’d ever cared about and now that I have a son, I cannot risk it again.
Since this Monday, I’ve been feeling completely lost (even more than before), but despite the fact that I’m clearly not living healthy, I’m not actively destructing myself and that’s probably the most important thing right now. I don’t have a clue what to do because I don’t want anything more than to be thin, but don’t know how to do that with the food and my conscience and my life and health and all the other things around here on my mind. I don’t know how to handle food because I can’t starve, binge, purge or eat normal, I don’t know how to behave and what I’m allowed and prohibited to do, say and consume and I definitely don’t know what will happen next, but I’m trying to make it through every single day without falling apart.
For me and for my son. And our future.
Today he’s exactly one year old and I got his birthday tattooed (my third tattoo) and I need to keep going for us. It’s all that matters.
Will I ever make it through this?
I honestly don’t know.
But considering how lost I feel, I guess I’m still doing a quite good job at handling all of this.
I don’t think I’m doing the right thing, but at least I’m not giving up.
Somehow managing to keep yourself above water can’t be called swimming, but at least I’m not sinking, right?

Burn with me, smoke will rise
Let the flames burn higher, walk into the fire

Control

So… My eating disorder has kind of taken over again. I wish I could say I stopped it before it happened, but I obviously didn’t. Food possesses my almost every waking thought and I’ve gone back to getting tensed and nervous around it. Everything consumed makes me feel guilty, I need to write down everything except water and despite my attempts to simply live healthy, it’s getting harder to draw the line between that and my disordered behavior every day. All I can think about is the sick wanting to lose weight and be thinner than I’ve ever been, but I don’t want to devote my life to and sacrifice my health for it either. I’ve been there and it almost got me killed.
So what am I gonna do?

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I try my best to stay on track, but I think I’m starting to lose control again.
Starvation is fortunately not an option, but claiming that my behavior around food is normal would be a lie as well.
Food is my one and only thing that makes me feel in control and not completely lost, so it gives me a sick form of safety I need to not feel completely lost. And, most importantly, the eating disorder is the only thing that makes me hate my body at least a little less and deal with my distorted body image a little better because I know that I’ll lose weight by listening to its words.
I need something to focus on when everything else slips out of my hands.
This shit has been on my mind for more than half a decade now, and the only time I could let go was when my body kept my son alive during the pregnancy and breastfeeding, but now that it belongs to me again, I feel the mad need to destroy it all over again.
I have dreams, plans and reasons to stay alive today (unlike a few years ago), but the problem is that being skinny is a part of every single one of them.
The healthy part of my brain has grown big enough to be able to convince be that these thoughts are nothing but invalid ridiculous crap, but it’s absolutely impossible to let go of them regardless.

I want to go out and attend concerts or parties again, but I need to be thin to wear a sexy outfit.
I want to graduate, but I need to be thin to wear a robe when I receive my certification.
I want my own apartment, but I need to be thin to allow myself to have food there.
I want to go to college, but I need to be thin to find friends there.
I want to get a good job, but I need to be thin to succeed there.
I want to be in a relationship again, but I need to be thin to be able to show my naked body to another person again.
I want to be a good mom for my child, but I need to be thin to be a good role model.

Isn’t that pathetic?
My weight doesn’t have anything to do with these goals.
I’m driving myself crazy and can’t really focus on anything anymore for absolutely stupid reasons. My eating disorder is maddening and deranging me so bad that I’ve been neglecting my friends, family and duties again because I frantically run around wondering whether I’ll eat or skip the next meal.
Control.
That’s all it’s about when I feel lost inside myself.
I just wish there was a normal way for me to achieve it because I don’t want to live like this again.
But I don’t have a choice anymore because I’ve already made one and it will make me go down again.
Strength, willpower and determination- those once were the things I was proudest of in terms of my personality, and now I’m throwing it all away to feed a disease. The probably saddest thing is that I now even realize what I’m doing to myself and no longer deny anything when I look into the mirror, but somehow this realization can’t stop me from my road to a huge relapse.

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Pretending everything is right
To make it better
I’ll hide my makeup smeared eyes
To show that I try

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

black, life, and sad image