Ups and downs

smoke, boy, and cigarette image

Some things are going really well at the moment. I downloaded an app called ‘Clean Time Counter’ and now know that I haven’t purged in almost 95 hours, which is amazing, and I hope that the app will continue to motivate me to stay strong because I don’t want to have to face the bitter failure, disappointment and embarrassment I will bring upon myself if I have to set the time back again.
So far, it has worked. The pressure is constantly there because nothing else can make me as relaxed and relieved as binging and purging can, but I’m trying my hardest.

Unfortunately, that makes my mood swings worse.
They’ve become a bigger issue over the last few months again and now they’re even worse, and because I can’t talk about them to my family, they assume I’m a moody bitch even though that’s just the only way I can express my moods when I can’t hide them.
But another positive thing is that I haven’t had a panic attack in at least a week, and I’m focusing more on the things that make me happy again. I write stories and play my guitar every day again after I let both these things slip for a very long time, and doing it again makes me feel fulfilled, happy and like I’m good at something.

Furthermore, that also causes my duties to be less important, and I avoid studying as much as possible and often don’t even bother to open the college website to get back to my works for days. And the bigger the gaps between the study sessions become, the more the thought of doing them scares me. When I do things I don’t like very often, they become a part of my daily life I just have to get done (like showering which I despise because of my naked body), but when I avoid them, they fill me with fear again because fears of failures somehow manage to get stronger again in that case.

And if there is something I can’t deal with, then it’s failure. When I’m not capable of fulfilling the expectations I’m holding for myself, the little bit of self-worth I have vanishes completely and is substituted by doubts and hatred.
To keep myself from falling apart, I constantly listen to music, but that’s pretty much the only thing that always holds me together when getting through with my chores.
Of course my son also makes me happy, but because I’m a young single mom, people constantly doubt and criticize me (especially my own mom which really bothers me), and when it’s about my own child, that really upsets me, so being anywhere around other people that might watch me somehow constantly puts some sort of pressure on me.
And it’s rather difficult for me to be genuinely happy when I feel stressed and under so much pressure.

My counselor says I’m making progress and I believe that as well when I look at how insightful, honest, strong and courageous I am, but my mental stability is fragile and can sometimes be wrecked by a triggering advert when I’m about to eat. Not that I’d let people notice, but I’m a mess in my head and often feel overchallenged because of that.
To keep myself up, I focus on my future plans and dreams, positive activities and goals in my life, but I can’t help but suffer from inner breakdowns from time to time causing me to want to cry, rip my lungs out or just stay numb forever.
It’s frustrating how uncertain everything is, and even worse is my still very twisted relationship with both my body and food, and we don’t seem to be able to get along.

It’s all a big chaos inside of me despite looking perfectly fine to those outside of it, and I just want it to be as okay as it seems. I just want to be okay. I just wish it were as easy as talking about it.

If someone offered me a flight to get out and never even come back once, I’d catch it without thinking. This place is hell, and I can’t wait to get everything on my list done and say goodbye, which sadly will still take quite a while. The way everyone judges me and puts me down drives me crazy, but what really bothers me isn’t what they see- I learned not to care about that a long time ago. What wrecks me are the thoughts I create myself.

couple, ian somerhalder, and tumblr image

Where are you?
And I’m so sorry.
I cannot sleep, I cannot dream tonight.
I need somebody and always
This sick strange darkness
Comes creeping on so haunting every time.

Done for you

The best things in life
Come with a price
The star that burned so bright faded the fastest
You’ll always feel it’s right
Even when we end the fight
Welcome home, home tonight

Singing ohhh, ohhh
Welcome home tonight
Ohhh ohh, tonight

Words they don’t know how to make amends
And all they do is push you to the edge
But it’s not wasted

It’s all done for you

Two weeks of the new year have passed so far and I don’t exactly know what I’ve been doing, but I think I’ve been doing quite well. I haven’t binged and purged once, have only smoked two cigarettes, haven’t purposely harmed myself in any way and I haven’t studied, written and read as much as I’d wanted to, but at least I have done it. Pride is something very difficult for me to feel, but at least I know that I have the right to feel it now. Staying strong is difficult. Getting up in the morning is hard and so is getting ready and getting all of my daily tasks done. I feel stuck in my everyday life and believe me, there is nothing I want more than getting out of here and never return, but I’m making it through step by step, day by day. Eating is hard, smiling is hard, leaving the house and telling people I’m fine is too, but I never back down and that’s what matters the most.

The moments when I feel like falling, the nights when I lie awake struggling to breathe and the emotional breakdowns I suffer from silently all pass and I move on from them. I don’t know if this is what you can call recovery because I still beat myself up emotionally every day by feeding doubts and hatred about myself and my body, but at least I know that I’m making progress. The steps are small and every one of them is harder than I admit, but I make them. Often I feel like wanting to cry and never stop, but I don’t. Sometimes I want to talk about it, but I don’t. Keeping these moments of weakness to myself hurts me, but I don’t trust anyone enough to share them.

My life is valuable: My body is recovering from the pain I inflicted on it for several years, my grades are great, my son is the most beautiful living being in this world to me, my family is here with me, I have very few, but lovely friends, never money, but only because I always spend it, and as far as I can remember, I’ve never felt as good as I do right now, but what I can’t really speak out loud is that I still feel pretty awful most of the time and like I’m on the edge to crumbling completely. But I don’t. And that’s what I need to focus on.

As hard as it is, the Tumblr quotes are right: The storm will pass, things will get better, it’s not the end and it will be worth it at some point because I am worth it. The journey to get there is just much more exhausting than people admit.

My thoughts are still very twisted, many of my behaviors influenced by my still present mental disorders and I’m not leading the life I want, but I’ll get it one day if I keep going and don’t give up on my dreams.

Most of the people around me don’t know what I’m struggling with because it looks like I’ve completely recovered on the outside and don’t think I’ll make my plans reality either because that’s just ‘a phase all kids go through’, but even though it’s hard to distance myself from the things here that harm me emotionally (and there are a whole lot of them), the way I deal with all this is satisfying.

No matter what anyone including the voices in my head say, I’ll get what I want. I’ll get my degree and my carreer, my tattoos and my clothes, my apartment, driver license, dog and car, be a good mom, make it out of here with my son, leave this horrible small town life and small town world and never come back. I’ll leave everything behind without even looking once. And most importantly: I’ll be healthy and happy.

It’s all still very far away from me at the moment and that’s what makes it so difficult to hold on to, but I’ll pull through.

No matter what anyone says. This life will belong to me and only me and I’ll make it what I want it to be for me and my child, regardless of other opinions.

I’ll free myself from this cage. I just need to continue to keep my shit together and move forward until then, no matter what it takes and how tiring it will certainly be.

Time, strength, determination and willpower. These are the things I need for 2017.

Living at home with mental disorders

I spontaneously decided to write this because the topic this is about (it’s obviously named in the title) represents a huge daily struggle for me.
My family has known about the severity of my disorders since my first suicide attempt got me into a psychiatric hospital in 2012, but despite all the family therapy sessions, long conversations and complicated explanations, they have always failed to understand them.
While my father always pretends it’s not nearly as bad as I might think and my sister simply ignores the entire issue, my mom is the only one I have been trying to actually talk to about it on a regular basis, but it always leaves me feeling like I just held a speech for a stone wall. She either doesn’t get it or doesn’t want to. Which one of them it is I can’t tell because I don’t remember what it was like without the sicknesses, but it definitely makes living together very difficult this or the other way.
Whenever I try to express that certain things trigger me, it makes her first confused, then angry and then she tells me that she’s not a therapist (which I know and I never expected her to act like one), and what’s even worse is that she somehow is always immediately offended.
All I ever do is mention what behaviors of hers are a problem for me, and I always emphasize that I certainly don’t mean to blame her for anything when saying that, but she immediately thinks that.
Like, literally every time, and I’ve been trying that every few weeks or months for several years now. What happened a couple days ago was another perfect example: I told her that it badly triggers me when she always puts things before food and makes eating something not important enough to spend her time doing without saying that it means she is to blame for any of my disordered behaviors, and she was super mad at me and refused to talk to me any further.
And during the next few meals, she gave me bitchy comments about how she was eating now and that she could obviously not have an eating disorder or support one because of that which I clearly never indicated either, and that made everything worse all over again. I keep telling her that all I want is try to make her understand what’s going on with me so we can live together peacefully, but it just doesn’t work out.
I love both my mom and sister to bits, but living here is hell. Firstly, the way they both eat is a daily trigger because my mom often simply doesn’t eat half the day because there are more important things in her opinion, and my sister is too lazy to eat or not hungry enough for the same amounts of time, and that makes learning to eat normally hella difficult.
Stating that, I am NOT stating that this means they are to blame for my relapses or that they have eating disorders. I know that both of these things aren’t AND have never been the case. But it makes things hard for me and I tell them about it because it would help me if they respected that. But nope.
So many things here are reasons to relapse: The basement that’s always filled with huge amounts of supplies that always include my favorite foods for my bulimic sessions, their eating habits, how perfect my sister, her body and her life is and that I never had that, how she is appreciated and gets everything so much easier and faster than I ever did, how my worries are always ridiculed or invalidated because I’m supposedly exaggerating, how I ‘don’t have the time to be sick’ or how I’m always expected to function.
And yes, there’s more.
Whenever I dare to say that I’m better, it’s just natural to expect that I’ve suddenly fully recovered, whenever I’m with my son, it’s just absolutely impossible to be depressed (I love my baby more than anything, but that DOES NOT make serious illnesses magically disappear), that talking or writing about things being hard for me (like I do it right now) means that I’m somehow obsessing over them or getting all worked up… There is just so much.
And no, I don’t blame my family. I love them and none of this is their fault. I just wish they’d at least try to understand me so they can actually listen to me and try to respect my wishes and concerns. I wish they’d realize that my bitchy attitude is an expression of my extreme mood swings, and that being better doesn’t mean being healthy.
I am more than a teenage girl with a child, and I wish they saw more than that too. But I guess they won’t and that’s one of many reasons why I need to leave.
I definitely want to keep seeing them at least a few times a week, but I need to get out of this house. Of course, wanting to finally have my own place and be all grown up, independent and self-determining is an extremely important factor, but to be honest, the most important reason is that I will never be able to recover here.
It’s not my family’s fault, but it’s true even though I could never tell them about them because they wouldn’t get it.
The food stocks, the misunderstandings, fights, lies and my perfect sister who has all of her wishes granted every single day makes it absolutely impossible for me to truly end a life with diseases.
I am certainly making progress here, but I know that I’ll never get further than that. But because my mom just lost her job and I financially depend on her because I haven’t finished school yet and can’t work additionally because of my son, I’m really, really scared that moving out won’t be possible this summer like we actually planned and I’m stuck here. Ah hell. I feel so alone, but there is nobody I want to be with.
Rant over. Thank you for your attention.

HULU tv fox sigh sleepy hollow

Dear eating disorder

I’m writing this to let you know how I feel and why I am no longer able and willing to trust you.
Your one and only goal has always been to destroy me, and I unfortunately didn’t realize that until you had almost succeeded. I wish I could say that it will be easy to let go of you after everything you’ve done to me, but it won’t because as much as I hate to admit it, a part of me still loves you despite the awful things you put me through.
But the problem is that, while ruining me, you also give me something nobody else can provide me. The safety and security I feel when I’m with you cannot be compared to the feelings I have when I’m with other people. You make me feel like I am not a lost case and that there’s still hope left, that following your advice will give me what I’ve always wanted. But this is the point where things don’t work out anymore: Listening to you has never solved any of my problems and just added new ones.
You recognized all of my doubts and insecurities the second you laid eyes on me and knew exactly how to make them your weapons, especially in terms of my perfectionism and body.
Being the best liar I’ve ever witnessed, you lured me into your trap, promising me everything I’ve ever wanted if I’d be willing to make some sacrifices. What you didn’t tell me was that the sacrifices wouldn’t just be some discipline, guilt and willpower, but my entire life. Saying this, I’m sure you’ll defend yourself and state I must be confused and therefore simply exaggerating, but deep down we both know which one of us is speaking the truth this time. I’ve told many lies over the last few years with you in my life, so many that I went through times when I started to believe them myself, but this time, I can see through your games and tell things as they are.
To make you a part of my life and get what you tempted me with, I had to push away everyone I had once cared about, give up on my health, let go of my sanity and devote my entire existence to letting you tear me down.
And guess what?
You never even kept your part of the deal.
Instead of giving me the perfect skinny body my insecure inner self with its twisted mind had always dreamed of to finally be appreciated, you turned mine into a wreck.
Instead of making me someone strong, disciplined and determined, you made me obsessed with thoughts so repulsive I’d rather not even name them.
Instead of giving me perfection (both inside and outside), you attempted to kill me.
And nothing you say can ever make up for that.
Our relationship was never real.
You never gave a damn about me.
I gave you way too many second chances because I put my faith in you and was loyal, sick and naive enough to believe you’d actually help me, but every time I let you guide me, I came one step closer to my own death.
This letter could continue for many hours and I could tell you so many things I have on my mind when thinking about you (especially negative, but actually even a few positive ones because no matter how sick, you always made me feel safe), but where would that get us? How would my rant help either of us?
It wouldn’t. This is all that matters, all I need to say.
I don’t care what you think about it. You’ll think that it’s not over yet and I’m just having another one of my doubtful phases when I try to distance myself from you but end up crawling to you again, desperate for your self-proclaimed ‘support’, but this time, it’s different. Say whatever you want. I know I’m not rid of you just yet and it’ll take a lot more time to let go after all these years we spent together in our own world, but I’m starting to leave right here and right now.
We’re not done yet, but we certainly will be, becauase this year is the year I’m actually starting to fight you and don’t just pretend to make others happy and keep myself delusional.
Say whatever you want; I know you think you’re smarter than me anyways. But I’ve seen every single one of your tricks and know them good enough to be able to recognize them before I fall for them.
You’re disgusting and the only one worthless here, and I guarantee you’ll miss me once you realize I won’t come back for you.
This is my the beginning of the end of the two of us and there is no turning back. It’s far too late for that and you know who’s to blame for what happened.
Keep my smile in mind because you’ll never get to see it again.

Why do we degrade ourselves?

Lately, all those ads that show up at the beginning of every new season (the current phase called the beginning of the new year is the most extreme one, but spring and the beginning of summer sadly aren’t much better) at all kinds of places so it’s basically impossible to escape them have been badly triggering me again, and because they make me feel this way, they also make me wonder.
Why is it such a huge deal for our society to pressure ourselves to slim our waist when something supposedly new shows up in our lives? Why, instead of focusing on what’s coming for us and trying to make the best out of it, do we reduce important matters to the shape of our tummies and put ourselves down so long that we start to feel like we aren’t enough anymore?
And why do we make something like the number the scale shows a more important matter than our happiness and health? Or maybe I should ask a different question: Why have we convinced ourselves that we need a certain dress size to be able to be both genuinely happy and healthy?
Whether it’s Instagram, YouTube, Google, the extra pages in the overpriced magazines, the billboards at the local subway station or the ad breaks on TV: Weight loss seems to be more important than anything else when starting into the new year. The variety of options, methods and advice are endless, but one thing is for sure: If you want this to be a good year, you need to get thinner.
And we believe it.
Trying on some shirts at H&M the other day, I overheard girls as young as maybe fourteen years talking about having to lose that holiday belly they’d gained, wishing my neighbor a happy new year, I got to hear about her being in desperate need to ‘finally’ get rid of her baby fat since her child is now already several months old, and going to the restaurant, my companion chose the ‘low carb’ options because that’s the only way to ‘get back on track’.
And yes, these things left me triggered and very self-conscious, but also puzzled.
Why do we make something as trivial as the amount of our body fat the center of your lives and the seemingly ultimate key to success in life?
It’s funny how we all tell each other how beautiful we naturally are and that we should love ourselves the way we are, but talk about weight loss strategies on the next page.
Is that really our life’s purpose? Isn’t that quite tragic when you think about it? That an image in the mirror defines how the world thinks about you, and even worse, how you think about yourself and whether you’re worthy or disgusting?
We’re constantly degrading ourselves to a level that it shocks and amazes me at the same time.
Yes, I do it too, but I wish I didn’t. This is not the way you should live your life. Desperately trying to change your shape to fit into a social construct of purely fictional perfection only gets you to one place: desperation.
I’ll never ever be good enough if I continue to let others determine whether I am.
It’s an unfortunate fact, but it is one.
This is a new year, and I won’t live it in self-hatred because I can’t acknowledge my own beauty and prefer to listen to sick voices telling me how to destroy myself for good. This society, these thoughts and these disorders are trying to take me down to make themselves feel better, and that doesn’t make them any better than another playground bully in middle school pushing around first graders to feel like a big man.
I need to end this before it ends me; I realize that now, and everyone else should too.
We. Are. Enough.
Downgrading ourselves just to belong at a sick place is not a mindset we should continue to raise our children with.

To quote one of my favorite online newspaper articles of all time I today finally printed out to finally give it its well-earned spot on my wall:
“Losing weight is not your life’s work, and counting calories is not the call of your soul. You surely are destined for something much greater, much bigger, than shedding 20 pounds or tallying calories. What would happen if, instead of worrying about what you had for breakfast, you focused instead on becoming exquisitely comfortable with who you are as a person? Instead of scrutinizing yourself in the mirror, looking for every bump and bulge, you turned your gaze inward?” – Lisa Turner

And now that I’ve finished my little thinking session, I need to get back to Netflix and my new KISS playlist on Spotify. Think about it, though. Ask yourself these questions. I sure will.

And before I leave… Read this (it’s not that long and you won’t regret it): http://www.huffingtonpost.com/lisa-turner/body-image_b_1431566.html

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

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.

thoughts, black and white, and quote image

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.

grunge, quote, and aesthetic image
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