False Feelings

I’m about to get super disordered so if you’re easily triggered I would suggest you skip this post.

I’m sitting outside, drinking a chai latte and smoking and all I can think about is how sick I am and how I should care, but I don’t.

I’ve lost about 3 pounds since Monday and I know I need to eat I have no desire to.

I know I’m dehydrated because I had to go to the ER on Monday for a possible medication interaction and ended up staying for fluids and potassium pills.

Thanks, milk of mag, for that.

And yet I’m happy.

I feel my hipbones and my clavicles beautifully grace my neck.



Day 8 of no breakfast.

I’m not sure whether I love it or hate it.
I’m glad for the extra time to get ready and not feeling so rushed


ED is making it very hard to eat at all now.
It’s sort of a game.

“Oh, you haven’t eaten yet today?”
“Yeah, I should probably get something.”
“Nah, let’s see how long you can go without.  I know you want to.  I know you were always jealous of those girls with all their self control with regards to not eating because you couldn’t do it.  But, you can do it.  Look at you doing it right now!”
“Yes, but I don’t want my body to eat my muscles.  I don’t want my heart to fuck up.  I’m not sure I want to die.”
“But, why?  You’re dying right now as you type this out.  Cells are depleting and breathing their last with every click of the keyboard.  You are dying.  Why not control the way you go?  You couldn’t control the way you came into this world, who your parents are, whether you were loved…but you CAN control the way you go, the food you put in, the vile waste that comes out.  You can control it if you choose…”



Sitting in the waiting area and there is an ever increasing flood of thigh gaps and small waists passing me by, making me a grumpy bear. I hate coming to outpatient when the inpatients are out.



Did amazingly well in the food category the last couple of weeks. Weight restored some, a lot, and I might even be willing to admit that I enjoyed some of what I ate.

I fell off that bandwagon on Monday, though, and hit the ground hard.

I was fine all day until I had to buy three things for dinner that night before I left the store. By the time I got home all I wanted to do was cry and hide. The tears wouldn’t come so I hid in my bedroom closet for like 10-15 min in the dark semi-silence. When I came out my resolve to “be better; do better” with regards to food was back with a vengeance and I did not eat until later and what I did eat was safe.

Fast forward a day or two and I am riding the ED high. I smile disorderedly, get excited about things that no one should be excited about, find myself thinking thoughts that are no good and smiling at them.

Thoughts like, “I just want my collarbones to protrude beautifully. I want to show them off to the world. I want to be thin; almost nonexistent. I want to be wispy like a strand of hair falling through the air; thin like a spindly tree branch waving in the wind.

And they are beautiful musings to me.
I read them and think of them and they make me happy.

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