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.

Welcome back, depression

 

I went through a few really great weeks concerning my depression when I was able to feel really normal with only a few hints of sadness and nothing else that resembles what my depression stands for, so I nourished the hope of actually getting rid of this disease after half a decade, but as usual, I was wrong.
Since my previous panic attack (another thing I’d hoped be able to defeat this year) and my two relapses concerning my bulimia after three weeks of being clean, depression has gotten ahold of me again. I’ve spent my forenoons sleeping instead of studying, stayed up even longer than usually, my insomnia has gotten worse, I constantly want to cry, my energy is being drained by this invisible force that makes me feel hopeless, sad, numb or just like shit, my smiles are lies and I find myself feeling the urge to just cuddle up in a blanket and never return to the outside world again. Doing nothing is no longer boredom, but everything I want and I keep picking my depressed Spotify playlists over my happy ones.


The pain has returned and I don’t know how to fight it.
I just don’t know.
Why does this crap always have to return?
Why can’t it just leave me the hell alone?
God, I wish all of this was easier. I wish something- anything could be easy at least once in my life.
I just want to run away, but I can’t. I need to keep going and pretend everything is right to make it better because I have a son whose future I’m responsible for, and to provide for that, I need to get my shit together and recover. Or at least stop the relapses. And most importantly: Stop getting worse.
I wish I didn’t always have to be brave and strong and all that shit and could just let go of everything for once and stop fighting it so hard. It hurts so much and I hate myself for feeling like this.
And even worse: Whenever I feel as crappy as I do right now, the goddamn grief returns as well and I miss my best friend so much because everything resembles me of her again and moving on from losing her seems impossible again.

If I could be with you tonight
I would sing you to sleep
Never let them take the light behind your eyes
One day I’ll lose this fight
As we fade in the dark
Just remember you will always burn as bright

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.

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

The sick pressure in the sick mind

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

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

I hate all of this so much.

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

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

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?

fat and society image

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.

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

When memories burn like acid

I recently re-discovered some old tracks I used to listen to years ago. The type of music no longer appeals to me at all, but music always has a very deep and personal meaning to me, so as soon as those songs started, I couldn’t help but break down. I wanted to cry harder than I have in years because I haven’t been able to cry and felt like I needed this relief because there was so much pain inside of me again as I listened to this music, but I couldn’t. I wanted the tears to take this heavy weight off my chest, but even though I started crying, no tears fell.

There was a time (2 1/2 ago, to be exact) when I cried really, really much because I finally faced losing my friend in 2012 after swallowing the grief for such a long time. So for a while, I cried constantly when I was alone, but before and afterwards… No matter how sad or depressed I was or am, there are no tears. Sometimes I manage to cry at least for a few seconds or minutes (if I’m lucky), but my eyes stay dry and it drives me crazy. When my depression started at the age of twelve, it made me cry so much and I considered all the crying a burden, but now I wish I could cry when I feel bad. It’s like crying so much back then used up all of the tears I had available and now my storage is just empty. I feel tears stinging on all kinds of occasions revolving around memories, sadness or anger, but they are always too stubborn to fall. Today I realize that having those drops roll down your cheeks isn’t annoying or unnecessary- it’s actually relieving and might make you look horrible, but also feel better afterwards.

And now that I’m no longer able to do it regardless of how hard I try by triggering myself with the things that really make me break down and feel like crap, all I get is deep and heavy sadness I’ve hidden for a really long time that makes it all even worse. Maybe the problem is that I never truly dealt with the pain inside of me. It’s all hidden under the surface inside of me and I always carefully cover it with other emotions, but I never figure out a way to handle it because I don’t know how I’m supposed to do that. It’s so much and I can’t just take out one piece at a time. If I let it in, I let it all in and then I can’t stand it anymore and it all gets too much again and I turn it off to turn it into emptiness and numbness again.

But the numbness is the worst part. The numbness is why I harmed and almost killed myself. The pain is horrible, but there is nothing worse than being alive and breathing, but feeling like you’ve already died a long time ago, like you need to see your skin bleed and your body cringe in pain to make sure you’re still capable of feeling something- anything. Is there even a way to deal with the pain once and for all without letting it take over or destroy myself? Is there a way to take it away without replacing it with something else? Is there a way of letting go of it without feeling like there’s a hole inside of me, like I’m incomplete? They say the past is only there to fuck you up, but is there a way to move on from the past when I’m forced to face it every day? Is there a way to live with the memories when they hurt so much that you feel like you don’t have any air left to breathe in your lungs? Is the happiness we all want really existent and, most importantly, will it ever be able to become a part of my life? Because right now, whenever I feel happy, something (usually me, my past or my disorders) is right around the corner to beat me up again. And yes, I’m fighting it every day, but I don’t remember what I’m fighting for. I do have goals and dreams, but it’s starting to feel like I’ll never have a chance when I can’t even overcome the stuff in my own head.

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I’m screaming internally, hoping for a break, for tears to fall, for my being to rupture so I can collapse, but there is nothing.
Sometimes I feel like all of this stuff in my mind has turned me into a ghost of who I pretend to be, a faded memory of what I could have been if I’d been stronger. Weakness. Emptiness. Pain. But a smile on my lips.

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I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liar’s chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair

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