I am done feeling sorry for myself now and wallowing in some type of misery. I think I probably just needed to have a day to get it out of my system, at least I hope that I needed only a day and can now move on from it. It’s difficult to know where it comes from, that seeping sensation that wants to swallow you up, getting stuck in your throat and eyes and ears. I try to remind myself that it’s perfectly acceptable to have a bad day, that it doesn’t mean I’m going back and turning into the person that I once was. The idea of that happening is unbearable.
Considering the type of person I grew into makes me sad at times. I see how unhappy I was, but also how angry and out of control I became. It was as though I was colliding into pieces of myself within the space around me and there was no tether to anything solid. My world shrank till it could barely contain me. There were so many hospital beds, and waiting for assessments and crisis plans and actions. There were police sirens, and doctors over-stretched and locked door after locked door. To have that need to inflict damage on yourself till you are no longer recognisable is difficult to explain. It’s not that you just want out of life, you want to make yourself suffer for wanting to die in the first place. When the time comes, when you are so exhausted from punishing yourself, you shut up, you take your pain privately and attempt to not let the slow itching of hate eat you alive. Even then, it doesn’t end. I’m not sure what does it make it end.
For me, the battle with food became more important than the desperation. The eating disorder became my sun and moon, and I thought that losing weight, lessening myself would eventually save me, make me more tolerable as a person, make me loved and at peace. If I could be Xlbs than happiness was mine. It’s taking me a long time to see that Xlbs does not exist, and it will take me an even longer time to stop thinking that the answer to my pain is within the mirror, that if I just shed the layers of my body away, it will be there waiting underneath.
Everyday I am thankful;thankful that my body is willing to forgive me for every scar I’ve inflicted, for every poison I’ve made it swallow, for forcing it into a shape that it was never meant to be. And everyday I try to forgive my body for all the ways in which I felt like it betrayed and hurt me, I am trying to learn that it was not at fault. At some point my mind and body will come together again. When it is a little less painful perhaps, when we can stop hating each other for mistakes that were never ours to begin with.
I am trying to find peace now. The need to escape is fading. I am letting go, even on those bad days.