Many people don’t realize this, but I have a very short temper. When I order something and they get it wrong, I get so mad. I want to yell and scream. When I have to explain something twice or when something doesn’t go my way, I want to tell people how stupid they are or how they can’t understand what seems so simple to me. I don’t do the first thing my mind tells me to do, I normally repeat myself or just stay quiet. I stay small. I spend my time making myself smaller so I can fit into the roles that people want to be in. I let people win by taking bullshit. They always win because I surrender. That’s okay because I have a disorder that lets me win. I can win against a bag of chips, I push them away so I don’t have to touch them. I can beat thai food because I don’t have to keep it like the way I keep everything that is told me. I purge it, I push the food away just like I wish I could push away the food. So the idea of recovering, of being small and having nothing to feel into that space.
I’ve hit a wall. Right now I am fighting a hersey kiss. A fucking hersey kiss. What I have used to cope has beaten me down into this pathetic person that has to unwrap hersey kisses with tears. I don’t know what to do. This disorder has taken everything from me. I am defenseless, a 21 year old that needs to be supervised while eating, a girl who is so dependent on everyone because I cant be independent with food. Do you know what it’s like when you have to forcibly turn the people you care most about, the people that you call your friends into your healers, your therapist, you doctor, your babysitters, and every role that they don’t deserve. I hate myself for this, i will never forgive myself for what I have done for this people that thought I was a good person, a good friend and an independent and responsible human being into a needy bitch who is weaker than a bag of chips or a piece of pizza.
To those people, I want you to know that I am sorry. I thought this would make me more lovable, make me more into a friend that you could be proud of but instead it has made me into this monster. I have lied to you, I have used you, I have put you in roles that you shouldn’t be in. I am so so sorry. You would benefit without me rather you realize it or not. i am bringing nothing but suffering into your life and it is time that I take a step back and allow you to be a friend to someone can be a friend back, nothing more.
It’s funny looking at the girl I used to be. My disorder wants to many things, it wants the thigh gap, it wants the scale to say 105, it wants me to not eat and it wants me to take laxatives or diuretics to get there. It tells me those are the things that make me happy. As vain as it may seem, I am looking through my Facebook pictures and I would never say that I was happy but I was happier. I look through these pictures and I see no prominent collar bone or thigh gap, no scars, no huge bruises from laxative abuse, I see a girl who is more than a goal of 105, who didn’t allow herself to be much but allowed herself to be wayyy more than a number on the back of a box or on a scale. I could be around friends…shit I could be a friend. Now I just hang around people while they smile and I judge their bodies compared to mine. So I see this girl, not perfect, not thin, but a girl who could function and act her age. I think that I can’t be happy if I am a weight or if I don’t look a certain way, but with every pound I lose I become more pathetic and when the things I swear will make me happy now are things that I didn’t have before and it was okay.
Don’t look at me as Sarah Gore. Don’t look at me as a college student or an RA or a friend. I am not. I am a sick girl who has a disorder that will kill her. I am a list of diseases and malfunctions, I am sizes, I am numbers, I am supplements, I am Anorexia, and I am Bulimia. I am not a human, I am a disorder. I am the girl who strives to find ways to hide and to not feel all the shit that has happened to her, I am the girl who benefits nobody. Please, I know I have disappointed you. I know that you are pissed, I know that you are looking at me like what the hell is she doing but it’s not Sarah. When I frustrate you, dont be mad at Sarah. Don’t be mad at me not eating. Be mad at all the things that it has turned me into. Be mad at my new identity, be mad at my disorder, not Sarah. You can’t be mad at someone who isn’t there.