To the Wise, Healthy & Better Person

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I am back again. I have taken a pretty long hiatus from this blog for no profound reason other than I can’t get myself to actually publish anything. I have mentioned many times that behind every blog post there is about 12 drafts that I never have the courage to put out there. Hopefully this one will find its way on my blog, who knows. The main motivation to write today is to convince you, reader, that I am actually not illiterate. I say that knowing that my last blog post represented the whinings of a 12 year old. Sad sad tears of a clown. Don’t judge me, I was anxious.

I am back living at my university. It’s nice to be back into a routine but I am starting to believe that this safety of consistency I have put up is unhealthy. I spend most of my hours alone, I don’t talk to people, I rarely go out and, what is the most problematic, I don’t fucking eat. A wise, healthy and better person would probably think I am insane and maybe that’s true. For the first time in a very long time, things in my life are relatively normal. Nobody I love is dying, which is a first, things are settling down, and I am beginning to wrap up the final semester of college. That’s supposed to be a good thing, a positive thing, even but yet I find myself lost in this normalcy. Everything in my life is running relatively smoothly but I can’t keep up. My eating disorder is completely out of control. I wish I had a more powerful sentence to describe it because 8 words cannot begin to amount the complete dominance that is Anorexia. So instead of enjoying college, I spend all my energy trying to fix myself.

Another wise, healthy and better person would probably mention that recovering from a disease is not a task for one person. I am not convinced. I’m not trying to recover, I’m trying to graduate. It’s ridiculous, actually, I know it would be the best thing for me to leave school, adventure to a rehab, and establish some sort of relationship with food. But sadly, wise, healthy and better reader, I can’t do that. “Can’t” makes it sound like a choice and maybe that’s how it seems, but it isn’t a choice for me. I’m not leaving here unless I have my degree or I’m in a casket. That’s intense, I am not seeking death at all, I am just trying to convey how serious I am about staying here. it’s just something that I need. I know myself, I know that pulling me out would cause a mental hell that I couldn’t bounce back from. There is no greater hell than packing up your stuff and leaving behind your job, your support network, you education, etc. I know I am side tracking but getting to my first run around the rehab train was one of the most humiliating things that has ever happened to me. I would not survive doing that again, and I mean that in it’s most literal sense.  So now I am in this cycle that is restrict, freak out because my weight is getting so low, eat a lot of terrifying food so I can be “better”, panic again, self harm, and then restrict. I hate myself for this. I despise this person with every inch of myself. I need to be better, I need to do better and I need to get better. I’ve failed at everything else, I need to at least prove that I am not a complete waste of space.

Wow. That got more real than I was expecting. Sorry. I digress.

So it is safe to say that my eating disorder is keeping me from embracing the new normal. I am not a wise or healthy or better person, I’m just me, trying to survive this, knowing that it will eventually end and I will get the help I need when the time comes. Until then, I will continue to get up, cover up my scars, and try to accept that I am sick and that’s ok.

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