But it's not that simple...

journal entry, subject: anorexia. I'm compiling them in hopes of future editing then publication

I feel like I hit a wall.

Fair warning, every time I try to write about this, it ends up a jumbly rant... so finally I'm going to try to get this complexity into order.

Right now I'm sitting at Mike's house. I made a stir fry with fresh veggies and tofu. I didn't use any oil. I put it on top of some spaghetti. The total would be about 200 calories.

I feel sick.

   

-Flashback to last night-

 

We were getting ready to go to bed. I was laying next to Austin and we were both really tired. I couldn't get to sleep because my head wouldn't shut up. I couldn't quit thinking about all the food I wish I could eat.

 

Then I couldn't quit thinking about how fat I'd get if I did eat it. Then I'd remember how far I still have to go before I'm perfect. Round and round my thoughts flew.

I made the mistake of saying how I couldn't get to sleep.

Him: "Why?"
Me: "My brain just won't shut up."
Him: "What are you thinking about?"
Me: "Oh nothing... Why do you want to know?"
Him: "I just wanna know what goes on in your little melon."
Me: "Well, it's nothing really..."
Him: "Oh what is it, you think you're fat?"
Me: "No..."
Him: "Uh huh, that's what it is."
Me: "No it's not! I mean, it is a little... but...."
Him: "But what?"
Me: "I just keep thinking about all the food I want to eat. But I can't."
Him: "Like what?"
Me: *buries head in pillow* "Everything..."
Him: "Well then eat it!"
Me: "It's not that simple, you know..."

 

So that's how it all started last night. I told him how I wish I could eat, but I can't. I didn't eat all that food I want and look where it got me... it got me this new and ok body. But if I did eat it all, I'd get fat.

And I explained that I'm afraid to even eat more than I have been. Because I don't want to eat too much and then have to purge.

 

It was then that he sounded like he might cry... saying how he just wishes I could get better and how much he wishes he could fix me. Which made me start to tear up.

I told him how terrible it made me feel, knowing that what I do hurts him. I told him how if I could just snap my fingers and change, I would. But it's not that simple.

Then I took the leap and told him how, honestly, it's an addiction. It's the rush I get when I wake up and see that I'm thinner than I was yesterday. The sense of pride I get when my stomach growls and I can say "no" to the food they offer me, knowing I'm stronger than them.

 

He turned around to face me and said "But that's not strength. That's running away. The real strength is in liking yourself enough to take you as you are and go from there."

Of course, I've never said this point blank to him before. My reply was "But I don't like myself. Actually, I kind of hate myself."

Just so you know, I'm tearing up again....

He held my hand a little harder and said "Look. I love you. I worry about you all the time, you don't even know. I'm always so stressed because I'm worried about what you're doing to yourself. I just love you so much."

He started choking up.

"I love all of you! Every little part and everything you do! If only you could see that, just how much I do."

I kissed his hand and said "But I'm fine. You don't have to worry about me, I'm ok."

Him:"But obviously you're not, if you're having these thoughts."
Me: "... but physcially I'm fine."
Him: "That's why you're always sleeping and you've only used the bathroom 3 times in 2 months."

Then it trailed off into I knows and I love yous.

 

 

He went to sleep. I tried. I kept crying silently so I got up and got dressed.

"What you doing?"
"Oh, just going to potty."

Which was a lie. I had to, I needed to, go outside for a smoke. I'm supposed to be quitting, and he feels bad when I smoke, but I needed it. I haven't felt this inner conflict in so long.

It was like I felt his pain so strongly when he said "I love you so much." I imagined it like me shooting down all he loves. I could hear the tears, the pain, the frustration, and some of the defeat in his voice when he said all that.

So I sat down in his garage, lit a cigarette, and I cried. I hoped, so much, that his dad wasn't going to come out for a smoke too... but it was like 2:00 am so I didn't think he would. But what would he have thought?

 

 

Now, don't get me wrong. I don't want to recover. I really don't. I like going every day, the triumph of self control.

I love looking in the mirror and actually smiling for once. I think I actually look the best I have... ever. My legs, the gap, my collarbones, my arms, my stomach, my waist. It's all pretty awesome. Yeah, there's stuff I could make better.... but there always will be.

But seeing him like that, knowing the pain I cause him, I want to get better.

I honestly do get tired of the daily fight. Especially when I'm as bad as I have been.

 

I'm afraid to eat over 10 calories in a sitting.
And I'm afraid to eat more than twice a day.
I have to have a stacker every time I eat anything, even if it is 10 calories.
I have to take the smallest bite I can break off with my teeth.
Then I have to chew it till it dissolves.
And I can't take more than 5 bites of anything.
I'm afraid to drink anything with calories.
I'm afraid of the full feeling. It makes me want to die.

 

And that's how I've been living for about a month  now.

My intestines are f*****g up.
My circulation has pretty much failed me.
I almost always feel dizzy.
My hair is thinning.
My breath smells terrible.
I'm always cold.
And I can't think of anything else but what I haven't eaten and what I wish I could eat.

I'm a mess.

Honestly, he's right. I'm not ok. I'm not alright by a long shot. Physically, I look good but I'm a wreck. Mentally, you can't tell heads from tails.

 

I'm over here. I'm over there. Where am I again?

 

 

So that's when I think. "Ok, this isn't worth it. No, I won't get fat. I've never been 'fat.' But I can't take the insanity, and I'm done hurting him. It'll be a long road, but I have him, and I can learn to like myself." But then I'm afraid... you know, I've lived my whole adult and teenage life like this, I just can't imagine living without it.

It's almost like, at this point ,it's a war between Austin and Anorexia. I can't have both.

I mean, I could have both. I'd just hate myself more for hurting him and I'd lose my mind, probably die really early and break his heart. Is that worth it though? Is it worth all that pain, the five seconds of happiness I get when I see myself thinner and shrinking?  I don't think so.

And you know, that's a lot like how I think about binging.

Is it worth it? All that food and what it's going to do to your body, is all the damage worth the five minutes of contentment you get from eating it?

Maybe I've just been looking at it all wrong.

I mean, yes, it's fun. I love it so much! Starvation is so much a part of me! I can't do math, but I can push the human body further past its limits than most could.

It's what's familiar. It's my third eye I never had. When nothing in the world makes sense, starvation does.

Beauty is what I'm seeking in my art... and melancholy is the ultimate form of beauty... but maybe when it's self imposed it's false... it's fake. So in a way, it's like plastic surgery. You can't make beauty, it has to happen.

So I don't know, I don't know where I stand. Recovery? Starvation?

I don't want to be Austin's Virginia. (more or less)

You know how Edgar Poe had to sit by his wife's (who's name was Virginia) bedside while she wasted away and died from Tuberculosis? How basically every night he just knew it was going to be her last. She'd cough blood and he knew it was it. He'd watch her sleep, waiting for her last breath... and when she'd wake up to cough he'd be relieved... but also tortured.

I don't want to make him feel like that. Worrying every day that I might die or some complication might happen and make me sick. I know I won't die, but he feels that way. I don't want him to have to watch me sleep and wonder if I'm never going to wake up again.

And I'm afraid that if I just kept going like this that I would be. That would be our relationship.

I'd even like to just get back to where I would eat from 500-800 cals a day.

I can hardly get myself to eat over 100 without freaking out.

And if I noticed that it's bad, then it -is- bad... really bad.

 

So back to the beginning.

I made a stirfry with veggies and tofu. I felt like s**t. I was weak, faint, my vision was screwy, and I couldn't think right. So I thought "Ok, I'm going to eat more than what I would."

I got a bowl, put about half a cup of spaghetti in the bottom. I put about two cups of the stir fry on it. I ate half.

Then I felt so freaking full. I was nauseous. But I took a stacker, so that put purging out of the picture, thank God. I was so close to doing it.

I still feel ill though. My head is still loopy and I still can't talk right.

My stomach is bloated so I feel fat... but I keep telling myself it's just food. Harmless food. It's fat-free, all veggies, no oil. I even have a stacker in me, so the extra energy is taking care of the excess.

So I don't know.

I do want to get better.

But I know these thoughts will come back and it'll be a war again. And without this, I'm afraid of losing a part of myself. Telling myself I'm not fat. That it's ok. That I'm only rotting my brain, and that's my most valuable asset.

It's like Body or Mind?
Austin or Anorexia?

I wish I could have all of it. But, as we all know, you can't have your cake and eat it too.

I could have my cake but not eat it.

Or I could have my cake, eat it, and purge it.

That's a metaphor, by the way.

So anyway, I feel like utter s**t. I'm ignoring my body right now cos I don't want to freak out. And I miss Austin.

 

 

Author's Note

Yeah, I realize it's imperfect. Grammar is probably under par. I used profanity. It's over formatted... but oh well. This is the truth as it happens.
And yes, I am going to keep all my journal entries. I've collected my journals since the beginning of my eating disorders. Hopefully one day, when all is said and done, I can edit and weed out certain things, compile them and publish one diary. Kind of a memoir, you know?

Reviews

[emmajoy]

You, dear girl, have enormous courage. You've laid yourself out for the world to see and that takes bravery.

You're you, maybe not the you you want to be but your artistry for the written word is just incredible, in its way - beautiful. One of these days you'll find the whole you; in the meantime, you're adventuring a not too safe route but for now, it's your choice.

Your writing has amazing power, it's raw, it's eloquent, it's thought-provoking, it's memorable.. the list could go on.

(You)