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.

author, writing, and authors image

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

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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?

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 struggle 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.

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

Obsessions

I’ve probably already been through this topic countless times, but it’s still important, so I’ll just post about it once more and dive right into it by stating that we live in a society that’s obsessed with perfection. Don’t believe me? Just think about it. Perfection is everything. All we want is happiness and it’s like we wrote specific rules in our minds we need to follow to achieve the ultimate happiness. We want to be as beautiful as possible, need to make as much money as much possible, and be well educated, smart, funny and either married with kids and a house, car and golden retriever in addition or be a super star in a band or on the runway. Either way, there is definitely a certain concept of happiness and it expects perfection to be reached.
But how can we be perfect when nothing is ever good enough?
We never have as much success as we want to, never have as many relationships as we need to be considered truly valued and beauty? What is beauty? How can you be the perfect looking person you want and are secretly expected to be when there is no definition for it? Is the skinny white girl in the magazine with the crop top, tanned legs and no food for three days the perfect girl? Does she know she is or is even she, the girl considered perfect, thriving for something more? Does she believe she has what she needs to be perfect? Is she happy this way?
Does it make us happy at all?
And if not, why do we want it regardless? Why are we so obsessed with this concept?
The girl in the magazine doesn’t even look like the magazine. It’s an illusion. Smoke and mirrors and nothing more. But we keep creating lies to deceive us into believing that perfection is achievable and that we just need to try a little harder to get there.

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There’s nothing wrong with us, but we keep finding something to criticize just to have a reason to doubt ourselves so long that our fears take over despite them being nothing but thoughts in our minds. When we’re young, nobody tells us how much power thoughts actually have, but they truly rule everything.
All it takes is one single thought, one sentence, one spark, to change everything.
And sometimes, ruin everything.
All it took me were four short words to change my life forever.
I am not enough.
I still remember the day I thought it for the first time and the thought has never left me since. The perfection I have in my mind is nothing but an illusion, but I keep trying desperately to reach it because if I don’t, what else is there? What am I supposed to do with all this self-hatred when there’s no way to convince myself into believing I’m actually trying to change something to please myself? Right now, the only thought that keeps me from falling apart completely when I’m alone is that I’m on my way to change. Deep down I know that changing my appearance won’t change my doubts, but I can’t do anything but keep trying.

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All we want is to feel like we’re good enough the way we are, but actively loving yourself is so much harder than talking about it and motivating people to do it on the Internet.
The poor way I treat myself is destroying me piece by piece, but I can’t stop if I want these voices to stop. I’m barely holding it together, obsessed with thinking that someday, maybe I’ll feel genuinely beautiful for once like the girls on Instagram pretend to be when they’re not standing in front of their mirrors pointing out their flaws and insecurities we all have, but won’t admit, because it would ruin the image of our endless happiness in a sick world.
Ah hell.

Saviour- a song that’s probably saved my life a dozen times since 2012

I never meant to be the one
Who kept you from the dark
But now I know my wounds are sewn
Because of who you are
I will take this burden on
And become the holy one
But remember I am human
And I’m bound to sing this song

So hear my voice remind you not to bleed
I’m here,

Saviour will be there
When you are feeling alone, oh
A saviour for all that you do
So you live freely without their harm

So here I write my lullaby
To all the lonely ones
Remember as you learn to try
To be the one you love
So I can take this pen
And teach you how to live
What is left unsaid
The greatest gift I give

So hear my voice remind you not to bleed
I’m here,

Saviour will be there
When you are feeling alone, oh
A saviour for all that you do
So you live freely without their harm

When I hear your cries
Praying for light
I will be there

When I hear your cries
Praying for life
I will be there

I will fight
I will always be there

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.

depression, fear, and text image

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?

On the edge

Lately, I’ve been feeling like I’m always one step from crumbling and it only takes one tiny thing to push me that last bit off the edge. One moment I’m fine, the next one I’m losing my mind. And the worst part is that nobody knows or will know about it. I’m tired of always needing to be fine, but I can’t change anything about it. I love my son more than words could describe it, but there are certain awful things about motherhood nobody ever tells you about and the worst one is that you always need to function. And when I say always, I mean it. When you have a baby, you can’t even take a minute off because as soon as you sit down, there’s the possibility that your child might start crying. You always need to be in control, calm, smiling, careful. Everyone believes I’m doing great, and on the outside, I really am, taking care of everything, getting all of my work done, never forgetting anything- but on the inside, things are different.

anxiety, black and white, and cigarettes image

I’m constantly torn apart between happiness and desperation- literally. It’s like there are those two sides in my head and I never know which one will win because while one tells me how great I’m doing and sees everything positive, the other one finds a thousand reasons to break down the next second. My mood is really fragile and even though I manage to cover it up with my typical slightly bitchy attitude mixed with casual kindness (yes, it works) and keeping myself busy all day, I’m praying in my head to be able to keep my goddamn shit together and not lose it again. It’s incredibly exhausting and making me feel really anxious. There’s nothing I can do about it, though. I need to figure out a way a deal with it despite how much it pisses me off on a regular basis. Sometimes I think I’ve got a pro’s and con’s list in my head that refreshes every minute to keep me up to date. Right now it looks like this:

+ I: managed an entire week with my son and my dogs in the house without my mom or sis around really well; work out every morning; am an awesome mom to my son; will put him in daycare the upcoming week to start studying again; am really strong and apparently not heartbroken and make my way through everything without falling apart; am holding on and have great plans for my future

– I: am fragile; am having flashbacks from the past; had to cancel my vacation because I couldn’t take it; still need to face the walking problem named my ex because he’s my son’s dad and I can’t just cut him out of my life like I’d love to; still suffer from relapses; don’t eat like normal people do anymore again; can’t talk to anyone about everything; usually don’t know what’s going on with me and whether I’ll go to bed happy or crying tonight; struggle with my self-identify* and body image very hard again

*About the self-identity-problem: Well, when my son was born a little more than nine months ago, I decided to start to dress like a mom (you know, the whole thing with blue jeans, decent jewelry, heels and blouses like classy moms do it) and strongly distanced myself from the stuff I used to like (smoking, drinking, partying, concerts) and instead act like a role model. Also, I stopped admitting when I feel bad because that’s something parents unfortunately are not supposed to do. Parents need to function and not feel, unfortunately. I still listen to the same kind of music with my earbuds and still like the same things, but I don’t really show it anymore. I only wear my band shirts and batman stuff when I’m home or walking my dogs, wear normal makeup and have a bright room with blue and photos and stuff now.

And I’m not sure if that was the right choice. Sure, if I made the choice again, I’d still never actually smoke or drink as a mom during the day and still only attend parties or concerts on special occasions with a babysitter at home, but the whole appearance thing seems to not be a smart thing now that I live with it. To be honest, wearing that stuff makes me feel really uncomfortable. Sure, it’s all really pretty (I wouldn’t have bought it otherwise), but it’s not me, you know? It doesn’t feel right.

afraid, black and white, and Darkness image

Okay, so I feel like I kind of lost my train of thought. Where I was actually going is that I’m sure if this is who I really am and want to be anymore. Do I want to be this perfect inspirational ideal showpiece teen mom? Yes, I want to keep being respected and admired for how well I’m handling everything because I am, but do I want to be this perfect fake? Do I want to pretend that I’m always fine and never struggling, always wearing that smile and confidence I’ve never truly had? Do I want to wear nude lipstick and red blouses and hide my studded leather jackets? Do I want to keep all of my feelings and fears to myself and my counselor?

I honestly don’t know what I’m doing here anymore. I don’t feel real anymore, you know? It’s like I’m fine and horrible at the exact same time, all the time.

Who the hell is this person in the mirror? When did I become her? Is this how it’s supposed to be? Am I happy this way? Because, honestly, I don’t know. I don’t even know if this is a dream or a nightmare. I don’t fucking know.

black and white, depressed, and depressing image