These pictures I post on Instagram of this healthy girl. This girl with no problem. This smiling girl who is too stupid to tell anyone she has this secret.
How are you?
I don’t answer because I don’t know what to say. I had 3 doctors appointments last week and 6 this week. I can’t sleep at night. I have spent hours crying this week over the stupidest things.
I gained four pounds in muscle. Oh sure it’s no big deal to a normal person but to me it’s like I’ve lost control over everything. Like what the freak you can’t even control what goes in your mouth what kind of pig are you how fat do you want to be before you put that food down and go do your pushups
I had a physical and appearance is perfect health.
I cried for two hours after that appointment because the doctor let me see my weight.
If I don’t lose weight I can’t get help with my eating disorder.
Tell me is it normal to want to throw up after every meal to obsessively count calories to not be able to go more than one day without working out unless the doctor absolutely says I am not allowed to. Is it normal to look in the mirror and see a 300lb menace where before I used to see… me? Is it normal to cry at night because I am so fat.
I’m going crazy. Or maybe I was already crazy and now it’s snapping out of me like some slavering monster, this creature I somehow birthed in the recesses of my damaged mind and I’m waking up on the bloodstained pavement saying what the hell have you done to me…
There’s no visible mark on me. I look “healthy” I’m a “well-developed female” on the doctor’s reports. “Appears alert and aware of surroundings”
Hell yeah I’m aware of my surroundings. You have blue eyes. He had blue eyes. I want to run but this is a doctor’s appointment in a tiny room in a tiny office and I have to do this to get to my next “fix” my next therapy that will somehow fix this disaster my life has become. He touches my abdomen and I try not to think of him. I try so hard. But my body remembers.
The things my mind refuses to remember my body will remember. My body will remember the things so horrible that happened that it will trigger me to vomit. To flinch away. To attack without reason. To be angry at everyone and everything for what he has done to me.
Just be happy. Just get over it. Put the past behind you.
Excuse me but this is not the past. This is not over yet. Maybe in your calm normal deranged mind something like this just goes away like owwie I got a booboo and then it’s over and you move on.
Do you wake up screaming night after night over memories you can’t make sense of that tumble endlessly through your mind. Do you have nightmares that you couldn’t get away he had his way and then it was done and it was over and he caught me so many times and I could not make him stop. That I know what sex feels like and in my religion and the cultures my friends come from for a man to marry a virgin is the highest purest type of relationship. That I go to class with these dandelionheads in Sunday School who have no idea of the other side of the spectrum with men. That men can be sweet and caring people but they can also be absolute savages.
I lock myself in my closet and cry for hours this screaming aching crying
Do you have dark circles under your eyes and an ache in your heart nothing can cure this emptiness that nothing will fill that food is ashes do you have any idea what it takes to be me just through one flippin’ day of this hell I call life
It’s no wonder I withdraw when my mental illness strikes. Noone likes to see me in pain. I guess they’d rather see it kill me.
I mean if you aren’t comfortable seeing what a chronic terminal illness does to a person then I guess I’ll just starve in my closet. You don’t have to watch. You just have to show up at the hospital when it’s over, cry a few tears, say all those regrets about how you wish you had been there and how I’ll be sorely missed.
Yeah why didn’t you try saying that through the closet door?