It has been difficult today to breach the void that separates me from the rest of the world. I could feel it, the loneliness, the sitting in a car with my mother and yet feeling as though there was an ocean resting between us. I felt trapped in my head, trapped in a body that will not let me forget that it exists. My mother asked me what was wrong and I could hear myself saying “I’m having a shit body image day” but it was like something else had taken over me and was doing all the normal things I was expected to do including answering questions. I ate, I cleaned, I wrapped Christmas presents, I visited my elderly aunt and I know I did them, but I don’t feel like it was me doing them. All I know is that the day has been filled with the sensation of my stomach, folded over so that skin touches skin and the flesh of my thighs, the bloating of my face, the tightness of my jeans, the swell of breasts…I could keep going on, but I think you get the point. I don’t know how to live in this body. I don’t even know if it’s real, a true representation of the way I look or something my brain or the eating disorder has concocted to pull me in. The only thing I know for sure is that I cannot let it affect my actions. I can not reply to these thoughts with limiting my intake or diminishing myself. A dress size smaller will not make me feel any better, putting my BMI further down a chart will not make me love myself, skipping a meal will not heal me. I am going to have to learn how to do that on my own.
Tomorrow I have my therapy appointment. I wanted to go in there with my mid-week positivity, be able to say something good, that my mood is better, or I don’t want to cry all the time, or the hate is getting less and I am beginning to make peace with myself. I’m not sure if I can though when all I want to do is scream. Scream and cry and let everything out rather than keeping it all trapped inside under an anxious laugh. I know that I don’t want to get weighed, that seeing the number this week and how it rises will not be good for me at this point. I fear I will not manage, because as much as I want to get back into my target range, reaching it is an entirely different thing. Being weighed fills me with shame and I can’t verbalise why and it’s probably irrational, but most things about Anorexia are, aren’t they?
I can only think of one time when I completely loss control of my emotions when it came to being weighed. When it broke me. I never want to feel that way I again. I never want to be that person made incapable of speaking again. I never want to be crying and begging and making deals with God, Satan, the doctors, my dietician, and nurses that if they can undo it then I’ll do anything again. I never want to give a number the power to turn me into a person I’m not again.
Maybe I won’t get weighed, or maybe in the morning I’ll feel a little bit better or stronger. Maybe it won’t matter…maybe a lot of things. I only wish I didn’t care at all.