Thursday, February 7, 2013

Reflection of the Day.

Today I had one of those days where I just wanted to scream and cry and then go to sleep.  Or where I really just wanted to get hit by a bus... not die, but get hit by one and wake up in the hospital.

Yeah.  It was a long day.

I dealt with friend drama, with my eating disorder, with being angry at my mother, with life, with everything.  And after this kind of crappy day, I really just wanted to sleep.

But of course, I can't do that.  I go to college, remember?  I have homework.

So I decided to go work out.
And I did, after my night lecture.

Now let's pause here for one quick moment and think about the implications of me working out.  It's not something I do on a regular basis.  In fact, the only times that I have ever worked out in my life are when my eating disorder was the worst or I was super stressed.

So the fact that I worked out tonight implies lots of things.  First, that I'm currently in eating disordered mindset and not trying to be healthy.  Which means that I haven't really eaten today.  Or lately, really.  Which means that my vitals are crap right now.  Which means that I've been told that I'm not allowed to work out.

Second, this implies that my stress level was un-chartable.  That I was just feeling things and needed to get them out via some form of physical activity.

Luckily for me, I have a friend who was more than willing to go with me.  Not luckily for me, she also struggles with body image and had a sub-clinical eating disorder in high school.

Well.
I didn't run until I passed out.
I limited myself to half an hour of running because I had a friend with me.

But here's the thing: anorexia makes me not want to listen to the voice of reason inside of my head.  It makes me upset that it's even there and it makes me feel crazy because I can't think/function/act normally.  Anorexia takes the good and turns it into the bad.  It takes the counsel of wise women, like my nutritionist, and ignores it.  It takes the friends and turns them into enemies.

And I'm sick of it.
Literally just sick of it.

I wake up every day wanting to fight.
And I fall asleep wanting to give up.
This is not okay.

It's not okay because it's not who I am.  It's not who I was meant to be and it's not good for me.  That voice of reason, the good, the counsel of those wiser than me, the friends--those are all things that I need.  That anorexia has taken from me.

It's taken my life.
How much more of it will it consume before I cease to exist at all?

Giving up is not an option.
I can't change the world if I'm dead.