My mother looked at me for the first time in two months. Directly at me and smiled. She didn’t say anything nor did she stop, she walked past me and actually looked at me.
It was weird and awkward. It made me realise that I haven’t spoken to my parents in two months and we live under the same roof. We live under the same damn roof. How sad is that?
This is all my fault, this is all on me. I made the active decision to starve myself long ago. It was my brain who told me that I wasn’t good enough; that I’ll never be. I’m in this storm, this mess of a mess, this hell because of something I did.
How do you come back from that? How do I, as a completely destroyed and fragile human being, survive this? How do I work actively against all I know, am I supposed to throw away all that is me, all that I know for something so strange, so surreal that I can’t grip. How do I tell myself that I deserve anything; something when I’ve picked and picked on my own brain for so long. I created this disease, my disease. I gave birth to my anorexia, to what I know call me. This is all I know, this is me. Why would I want to kill it? Why would I throw myself out there, in the cold unknown water when everything I’m sitting in now is so familiar?
I can’t. I can’t grasp the seriousness in this. I don’t understand what’s so wrong with being safe. With wanting to stay safe. I can sit in a chair for hours and talk to my mouth is dry about what I want, what I need but it never gets to me. The words I sometimes believe is real are only a vivid imagination of what society wants from me. You can’t be sick, you don’t want to live like this. But what if I do? What if I actually am content with who I am?
Am I supposed to get better on others request? To fight for something I don’t believe in because others tell me I must. This is my battle to win or lose, why can’t I choose the path I’m supposed to take? How come people are so comfortable with giving directions but not following them? You can’t sit in a chair while facing me and tell me that I’m more than this, that I’m stronger and that I’m lost when I know perfectly fine who I am.
I can see everything clearly at moments and surely, I know that this is not all of me. But it’s such a big deal of who I am and who am I without it? What am I without my best friend? I know what I get and what I want from it. People are untrustworthy, a creature who lives in the moment. I am not. This disease is not. I know the anxiety as I know the back of my hand and I’m content with that.
So let me be content with it.
I do not for the love of God understand why someone in their right mind believe that the person to ask about losing weight is someone with a disease, AN ILLNESS. How stupid are people these days?
I’m not here to give anyone tips on how to starve or loose weight. Use google and fuck off.
Let’s see, I created this blog in September last fall, about six months ago, give or take. My birthday, if I can remember it correctly, happens to be July 13th.
Indifferent. Been hospitalized again. Can’t even count the times. Sorry but deleted all the messages, without reading the 38 new one. Couldn’t in case anything was triggering. Not actually sorry because you send awful things to a sick person.
Can’t even be bothered with spelling or grammar, can’t even use the word I because “I” don’t feel like a person any more.
Everything’s a blurr, I feel like shit and I didn’t eat anything today. I threw up about six times and drank water.
I’m regretting this decision now but I can’t turn back.
After waking up at eight I swam for thirty minutes and afterwards I ran for about an hour. That’s not unusual, but after working out, I ate breakfast for the first time since I was thirteen.
Today I’ve been eating:
Blueberries, 80 worth of calories.
A salad consisting of:
Cucumber, 5-6 calories.
Tomatoes, 15 calories.
Sweet corn, 30 calories.
Lettuce, 8 calories.
Bread, 85 calories.
It didn’t feel good and I’ve been nauses the whole day but I’ve kept the food.
I’ve decided, I’ve been off the computer and internet for two weeks, I’ve been sleeping, trying not to work out, trying to eat and having constant anxiety. I want to be healthy and I want to be alive even though I’m in the darkest of places as of now. I’m fed up and tired and I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t be this person and I don’t want to either for the first time in a long.
I’m getting better. I’m turning everything around. I’ll live. I’ll be happy. So this blog will turn into process blog. There will be no more thinspo nor picture of skinny girls because I’m too fragile for it. I will update with my food diary and thoughts etc. So if you don’t like it, unfollow now.
