My mind is a liar. My eyes are wrong. My mirror is broken.
One of these or quite possibly all of these statements are true. I’m not sure how long it is going to take for it to sink in fully. Till I accept that those wars in the morning I have getting dressed are entirely pointless exercises when I am trying to find something to wear that doesn’t make me either look A)Fat or B)Ugly because everything will make me believe that. I wonder how many hours I’ve lost staring at my reflection and just repeating the words “I hate you” over and over again, as though I could inflict the same level of pain on it that I was feeling, forgetting that it was not a separate thing, and the only thing I was hurting further was myself. The thing is though I don’t actually give a crap about the way I look, not really. If I did I’m sure that I would dress better, wear make up more, or even make a little bit of an effort with my hair. Eating disorders are not about the way you look, it is nothing to do with fitting in to a smaller jean size or being pretty, it is something that fuels this need to limit yourself as though you have no right to take up space in the world. It creates the belief that as your stomach or thighs begin to shrink so too does the pain of something you cannot not name. Maybe that is half the problem, not being able to make a name fit the type of pain you are feeling or point to exactly where it hurts so we spend our time just focusing on something else, distracting ourselves from the things we can not dare to acknowledge, let alone admit.
My emotions are fighting their way to the surface, long ago trauma becoming rooted in the present and I cannot turn my face away from it, I cannot shield myself anymore. And I am folding and collapsing in on myself, forcing myself not to cry, to not lash out, to not scream at the world “Look at what you did to me!!!Look at what you’ve reduced me to!!!”. The world did not do this to me. I did this to me. It is so hard to believe that it was not my fault, that I didn’t fuck up and yet there is something inside of me that will not let me believe it, that flings itself against my chest in rage telling me to ‘just take the goddamn responsibility and move on’. I am trying to work through my feelings at the moment. It is not as easy as it looks.