I'm an acquired taste.
I brush my teeth in the shower.
Sometimes I hate myself quite a bit.
I can't just do nothing.
Time pisses me off.
Socks must match.
I'm indifferent.
Unfocused.
Imperfect.
I like stickers, sparkles, shiny things.
I write.
Scribble.
Draw.
Write some more.
Highlight.
Circle.
Outline.
Number.
List.
...all in my journals, notebooks, workbooks, scrapbooks.
I'm in control of my life... I write that 15 times.
Recite it in front of the mirror.
I pretend I am.
I smile.
I nod.
I fake it.
No one has a clue.
I am an actress.
I perform.
Every day of the year.
Every hour of every day.
It's overwhelming.
But I can't exist in any other way.
I can't sleep.
I run, instead.
On a treadmill, through puddles, in bad neighborhoods.
Something always hurts.
But that’s a good thing.
Pain is a good thing.
It reminds me I can feel...
I’m damaged.
Detached.
Dysmorphic.
I fell apart a long long time ago.
I don't exactly know when or how.
That part of me, no one sees.
No one knows.
Hidden under a well-constructed facade.
It’s dramatic.
It’s unexpected.
Fragmented.
I don't remember a lot.
I forget things.
Dissociate.
Drift away.
Whole chunks of time erased.
I don’t remember what I had for breakfast
Or how much
Or the last time I threw up
This morning was so long ago
So far away.
I'm OK now.
I won't do it again.
I'll just starve.
But sooner or later I do...
Over and over.
Again and again.
I hate it.
I love it.
I live it.
I hide it.
I contradict myself.
I get better.
Worse.
Back.
Forth.
Round and round in circles.
There's no going back to normal...
I don't know what "normal" is.
Only what I read in books and regurgitate on cue.
I teach others how to eat “right”.
I guess those that can’t do, teach.
I don't have a clue of what I want.
Or who I am half the time.
Something is always missing.
A chunk someone bit off.
I'm tired.
Worn out.
Exhausted.
It’s not about weight... I keep telling them.
I don’t want to be thin.
Skinny.
Emaciated.
Why is everyone always trying to feed me?
There is no logic to my actions or my thoughts.
Maybe I’m a masochist...
wanting to bash my face into a mirror, concrete wall, bathroom tile.
It’s easier to not question yourself.
Then you just exist on auto-pilot.
Having an eating disorder is easy.
Not having one is hard.
So I try again.
Say that this will be the last time...
Last week, last day, last hour.
I try.
And I fail.
Try.
Fail.
Try.
Fail.
Good day.
Bad day.
Worse day.
No clue how I got like this.
No clue what was it that just went wrong.
No clue when it all really started.
No clue how to "snap out of it".
But I still try.
Day after day
Week after week
Month after month
Year after year....
Giving up is weakness.
I can't give up yet...
I’m not weak...
I’m not weak...
Dot dot dot...