Wednesday, March 28, 2012


   I am afraid of sleeping at night. I am scared that all the things I've done during the day will be forgotten, that I'll get over everything and be fine. I do not want to be fine, because I remember the time when I used to be fine - days full of thoughts and joy and tears and lies, stolen kisses, subtle glances, never-ending phone calls, one-minute phone calls, fake friends, not cutting, not eating, not throwing up, not taking laxatives, not sitting on window sills.

   It is weird, at least to me, that there was a time when I knew many things about eating disorders - people, diagnosis criteria, songs - but not from my own experience. Now I can tell you in one thousand words every single feeling that I have had for almost a year now: Pain, fake and blind happiness, love, disgust, hate, anger, despair, sadness, trust, doubt.
   May 8th, I scribbled in my notebook, "Didn't eat.. anything." Same thing for the enxt two days. May 16th and the following two days, "NO FOOD." I ate a soup on the next two days because my heart was feeling funny, I had a weird pain chest and was tired of arguing with my family. Those were the days I wish I had fucked myself awake, opened my eyes and told myself, "Bitch, you don't want to go down that road." Every single day since then was full of doubt and disgust and "You are fat!" because "fat" is no longer the way one looks, but more an emotion. Feeling sad? Fat. Angry? Fat. Happy? Fat. Not feeling anything? Fat. Disgusted? Fat. Betrayed? Fat. anything? Fat. And I no linger know what it means, it's just the way I see myself and feel.

   I obviously know that I am not fat. Not from a medical point of view, at least. If anyone thinks "Look at that fat fuck," it's totally fine with me. I know plenty who think "Look at that skinny bitch, I want to be like her, super-tall and slim." It is the feelings I have (and often not have) that represent the image in the mirror, the number on the scale, whether no food at all is actually too much food.

    I have lost myself and miss my old self. Still, I won't make anything to get myself back, to get myself together. It's to much of an effort, and it would be useless. My old self is dead. It is sleeping..

   But I am awake,

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