I smoked weed today after a really long time and realized how my eating disorder is all I think about. Everything relates to it, everything triggers, everything reminds me of what I'm doing. I think about it so much that my world now revolves around it, and this silence, as much as I enjoy the lying, it's killing me. And that's where this comes in. I need to be able to talk, even if there's nobody listening.
I now understand drug addiction. I understand what it's like to throw everything away over something that might be killing you.
I've been overweight pretty much my whole adolescent and adult life. I remember walking down the street one night and seeing my reflection. I saw a bear. I hated myself.
I want fragile, I want tiny and small, and almost invisible. I want my idea of beauty. And I feel like I'm so close to it, all I have to do is try a little longer. I was called petite today, for the very first time in my life. It made me feel beautiful. But only for a second, because the side effect of this condition is paranoia. I feel like I am constantly being judged, that people are always pointing out my flaws, and that petite really means short and fat. It cannot possibly mean what I want it to mean.
I haven't eaten in three days and then I fucked up. Not too bad I guess, but any amount of food, regardless of whether I keep it down or not, is a fail to me. The only calorie intake that is acceptable is 0. And going anywhere above that is self-destructive.
The reason I'm writing this is because I feel all alone. Yesterday (so strange to think it was only yesterday. The days have started to move so much slower) I looked through my phone book, my facebook, desperate to find someone who could understand. Desperate to tell someone, to talk, to reveal myself, but there is no one. And I don't need, want or deserve help. I know what I got myself into, and I can't walk away until I'm fragile. Little. Skinny. Petite. I want to talk not because I need someone to save me, but because the silence is pulling me further down. I love the lying, as sick as that is, but it has become the part I enjoy most. Having no one around me really know me, having to act out healthy, pretending that I'm eating when really eating makes me sick. The lying, and the fragility, it's what drives me.