The hell called summer vacation

My mom, sister, son and I arrived in Italy on Saturday and will be here until the beginning of September. We’ve been to this country many times before because it’s one of the most beautiful ones in this world with its landscapes, language, architecture, history, people, food and culture, but there is this one little huge issue: It’s a summer vacation and summer vacations and I have had a little problem with each other in the last few years. Since my eating disorder started about six years ago, I’ve had huge body image issues and of course, they’re worst when you’re spending your summer vacation because that’s where you’re continuously confronted with bikinis, pools, beaches, heat, sunshine and short clothes which are all torturous things for people like me who can’t look at their bodies in a healthy way and have a rather disturbed image of them. For a long time, I struggled with choosing between staying at home with my son or going on this trip, but in the end I decided to come along because I thought I could handle it and really love Italy and my family. But I was wrong and overestimated myself. 

I can’t handle it.

At all.


I’m totally fine with our nice apartment and shopping trips and visiting cities and strolling around discovering new things in a foreign country, but this whole thing with the clothes and the sunbathing and swimming is killing me inside. I’m trying my hardest, but there’s no way I can do this. I went swimming once because I really love to swim, but wearing a bikini almost made me cry the whole time. It’s so pathetic, isn’t it? I don’t have the right to complain. I’m here at this beautiful place with my beautiful family on my son’s first vacation in his so far short life he seems to really enjoy and I’m constantly depressed. I smile and pretend I’m fine hiding in my room whenever my family goes to the beach or pool, but it’s all a big fat lie. I can’t stand it here.

I’m such an ungrateful weak little bitch. Others never get the chance to spend such a great vacation at a place like this and instead of enjoying it, I can’t handle my stupid sick thoughts that make me hate myself 24/7. The fact that I hate myself this much somehow makes me hate myself even more.

I hate myself because I thought I’d be strong, but I’m obviously not, and because I have a perfectly fine body and feel utterly disgusted by every single inch of it. 


And most of all, I hate myself because I’m ruining everything for everyone, again.

With my stupid sick thoughts caused by stupid disorders in my head I can’t get rid of.

Is this a part of recovery or a relapse? Because I can’t seem to see the difference anymore. All I want to do is leave right now, but there’s no way I can afford the flights for my son and me and my mom won’t leave with us until the scheduled departure in two weeks. And I definitely won’t ruin my family’s entire vacation by making them leave earlier.

So what will I do? Suck it up? I guess I don’t have another choice.

I’ll survive it, right? That’s all that matters. I can cry when nobody’s looking. 

I never thought this would be so unbearable, though. Hell, I’m so stupid. 

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We are our own enemies

Since I started school again, I’ve been relapsing even though I gave everything to prevent that. But that’s the point of all this, isn’t it? No matter how hard I try, I’m never good enough. I feel like that’s the main problem in my life. Nothing is ever enough.
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I saw a doctor today because of my swollen ankles. Wanna know what his ‘medical explanation’ was? I’m too heavy. This shithead dares to stand up and tell me my freaking ankles are swollen because I need to lose weight. Well, first of all: I’m not overweight. Unlike someone who actually studied medicine, I do know what a BMI is and that mine is definitely normal. Not to mention that you don’t actually even need a BMI to tell whether someone is overweight or not; you just see that- especially as a doctor. Well, he didn’t. But there are more things about his ‘diagnosis’: I gave birth to a baby exactly five months ago and have been kind of busy since with my finals and, well, my BABY. And he knows that because he is- no, was- a friend of my mom’s. And last but not least, when he made that fucking so called diagnosis, I was actually stupid enough to tell him I suffered from a severe eating disorder for half a decade and really don’t need to hear that shit (I didn’t say shit- I’m way too polite when I talk to adults who act like douchebags) and his explanation for that was that I’m just a badly behaved pubescent teenage girl. Right. THAT’S my problem. Thank you very much DOCTOR.
But that’s actually not where I wanted to go with this post. I just used it as an example for moments when I feel like I’m just not good enough. Not thin enough, in this case.
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No matter how thin was, I was never happy with what I saw in the mirror. I remember when I looked into that stupid thing three years ago and my ribs were sticking out and I was wearing those way too huge jeans even though they were the smallest ones the store had had, I looked at all those visible bones and all I thought was: There’s still weight left to lose. This isn’t it.
It’s always been like that and now that I’m not obese, but did gain weight during my pregnancy (even though that’s basically the most natural and normal thing in the world and happens to every woman) and that fucking kills me inside every single fucking day. I don’t tell anyone but my counsellor I’m seeing again on a regular basis now. Why should I tell anyone else? They wouldn’t be able to help, so what’s the use? I’d only get fake pity and I really don’t need that. Those things don’t get better when you talk about them. Some things do, but not this crap. It only gets worse.
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Same shit with my achievements: they’re not enough either; never have been. Back in elementary school, when I came home with an A, my dad used to take a look at it and then, instead of commending me, he would tell there were still a couple of points left I could have scored. That’s the mindset I grew up with and that’s been part of me ever since. Sometimes I don’t even bother to try cause I already know it won’t be the way I need it to be. Like maths. Already gave up there cause I know there’ll never be something better than an E- even though I worked my ass off to get better. It’s always the same shit. You try and work and put so much effort into something and screw it up anyway. Sometimes I think I just can’t take it anymore. This sick craving for perfection. Where’s it gonna get me? Nowhere. Because it doesn’t exist. You will always find something to criticize. There is no finish line, no point when you’ll be like ‘alright, now I’m good enough’. Who or what do we even have to be good enough and perfect for? Who the hell cares anyway? Why are we doing this to ourselves? Why am I doing this to myself? I know EXACTLY where it will get me. I’ve been there. It’s basically the road to destruction, but I’m taking it anyway, hoping it will be different this time, hoping I’ll make it this time. Hoping I’ll be happy this time. Hoping I’ll finally be able to live with myself, cause right now I’m just not. I can’t stand myself. I’m not what I need to be. Who I need to be.
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Who am I even trying to satisfy? The disorders in my head? The stupid people at school or other crap? My family? Myself? My son? I want him to be proud of his mom, but I’m not like other moms. I don’t have the perfect husband and the perfect house and the perfect job and the perfect life. Nothing is ever perfect when it comes to me. And I actually know that the perfect housewife’s life usually isn’t perfect either, that nobody’s life is, but I just can’t convince myself of that. Who am I and who do I need and want to be? And why is nothing ever enough? Why is this voice inside of me never satisfied with my accomplishments? Who is this voice? Is it me or society or my disorders? Why the hell do we hate ourselves this much? Why are we making ourselves our own enemies? There’s no need for it. But it’s what we do. Every single day, we put ourselves down because we can’t live up to some stupid expectations we or somebody else made up for us. And that’s what makes us fall apart. It tears us apart so badly, we need something to keep the rest of us together sometimes. Like drugs. Legal drugs since I’ve had my son, but still drugs. I’ve been smoking a couple times again even though I actually quit when I knew I was pregnant, so I got an e-cig now. Looks stupid and doesn’t exactly taste like a normal cigarette, but there’s no real smoke, smell, nicotine or cancer involved. I just need it to calm down a little. Oh, and I’ve been drinking a couple times. Vodka in a water bottle so people wouldn’t notice. I didn’t get drunk; I don’t do that because it’s stupid, ridiculous, low-brow and immature, but I drank a few sips here and there to keep my head from exploding at school. It’s stupid too, but I can’t help it there. Cassie describes it perfectly:
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I just need something to keep myself from falling apart because I love my son more than anything, but there is nothing. Nothing inside of me expect for the love for him. He’s like this huge light in the middle of all the darkness inside. But no matter how bright the light is, the darkness won’t fade away completely. See, nothing is ever enough. I keep smiling and telling people I’m okay because they wouldn’t understand (I only tell people when I know they’ll understand cause telling others would be useless) and I take care of Jamie and I’m always there for him and somehow make it through every single day and pass my exams and all the other stuff, but all the pressure makes me feel like dying. I wanna let go, but I can’t. I need to hold on and somehow get through everything, no matter what it takes. I don’t have a choice. I’ll probably never be happy, but Jamie needs to be. He deserves it. I probably don’t.

Does this darkness have a name?

Does this darkness have a name?
This cruelty?
This hatred?
How did it find us?
Did it steal into our lives or did we seek it out and embrace it?
What happened to us?
That we now send our children into the world like we send young men to war, hoping for their safe return, but knowing that some will be lost along the way. When did we lose our way?
Consumed by the shadows, swallowed all by the darkness.
Does this darkness have a name?
Is it your name?

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Hey dad

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I’m writing to you
Not to tell you that I still hate you
Just to ask you how you feel
And how we fell apart
How this fell apart

Are you happy out there in this great big world?
Do you think about your kids?
Do you miss your little girl?
When you lay your head down
How do you sleep at night?
Do you even wonder if we’re alright?
We’re alright

It’s been a long hard road without you by my side
Why weren’t you there all the nights that we cried?
You broke my mother’s heart
You broke your children for life
It’s not okay, but we’re alright
I remember the days you were a hero in my eyes
But those are just a long lost memory of mine
I spent so many years learning how to survive
Now I’m writing just to let you know
I’m still alive

The days I spent so cold, so hungry
Were full of hate, I was so angry
The scars run deep inside this tattooed body
These things I’ll take to my grave
But I’ll be okay
I’ll be okay

It’s been a long hard road without you by my side
Why weren’t you there all the nights that we cried?
You broke my mother’s heart
You broke your children for life
It’s not okay, but we’re alright
I remember the days you were a hero in my eyes
But those are just a long lost memory of mine
I spent so many years learning how to survive
Now I’m writing just to let you know
I’m still alive

~ original version by Good Charlotte