My eating disorder has a death grip on me at the moment. I’ve been lying to myself; oh, I’m doing better, progress not perfection. But I’m bone-chillingly scared because I’ve realized tonight how deeply I’ve relapsed. I just woke up from a series of nightmares, all of them featuring me with a noose tightening around my neck with every bite I take and every bite I purge. I woke up and I couldn’t breathe and that isn’t much different than how I feel in reality. My noose might be figurative instead of actual rope, but it’s there, squeezing the life out of me. And not only am I not trying to cut myself down, I’m actively wrapping it around my neck.
My birthday is next week and I feel like I’m at the crossroads again; that place where I have to decide: live or die. I think that — mostly — I want to live, but even typing that out in such wishy-washy fashion shows my ambivalence on some level. If I am going to slay the dragon, I need to believe in my sword. I don’t know if I can do that, because for so long I’ve been fighting futilely. Surviving, not actually living. And part of me thinks what’s the point? Why bother? Just do what I want and maybe I can die on the bathroom floor like the nothing I am.
I don’t know what the point of this post was. I guess I wanted to acknowledge out loud somewhere that yes, I do know what’s happening, even if I keep pretending I don’t. I wanted to cut through my lies for a moment to show myself the real face in the mirror; the one that is tear-stained and haggard, without the fake smile and false twinkle. I am dying, and if I don’t change my behavior, I will die. That’s the bottom line.
Now what do I do about it?
