I’m barely even the same person I used to be.
I should want to be her. Smiling face, big boobs, shiny hair, healthy skin. But I love being boney. I love being fragile. Lank hair and grey skin. I love looking like I’m five years old, yet 80 years old at the same time.
Why can’t I just be better?
Yesterday I had a panic attack because there were no tomatoes. Yes, I know this is ridiculous, but obviously, I may be eating better but that does not mean my eating disorder has disappeared completely. Its just such an effort.
As for today’s intake (writing it down makes me feel calmer)
Breakfast: oatmeal with dried blueberries and a small apple
Lunch: moroccan chickpea and lentil soup
a glass of cranberry juice
1 fig roll (i know its weird but i love them!)
Dinner: wholewheat penne pasta with quorn chicken-style pieces in a tomato and herb sauce
skinny bitch mint choc chip ice cream stick (only 97 calories – i know i shouldn’t care but this made me happy)
Snack: a chai latte
Just because I’m eating better, doesn’t mean I need to eat junk, right?
My grandma came to stay today. The same grandma who freaked out about my weight this summer. My mum told her about my eating disorder and she came upto me and said
“You look better”
Because my mind still lacks total logic, I heard
“You look fat”
I went to the toilet and cried for ten minutes.
I’ve just been discharged from the Eating Disorder unit in The Priory. That is not to say that I am recovered, it is only just the beginning of my treatment, now my metabolism is beginning to stabilize.
I think I’ve finally found out the root of 6 years of self-harm, self-starvation, self-hatred and suicide attempts. I think I have anxiety disorder.
I trudge through life within these walls,
Familiar colours and double-locked doors,
Up on the cupboard my crumbling moon sits,
My electric sunrise buzzes and clicks.
I breathe in deep with precision and care,
The windows my shield from real fresh air.
When I unlock the door I gasp at the mess,
I’m diminished by nature and quickly regress.
As the scenery grows, my horizon is fading,
I go to seek comfort in the city’s grey shading,
The sun burns my flesh and the sky’s strong breeze
Knocks me around until I’m down on my knees.
“Now count to ten and don’t get dizzy”
“It shouldn’t be hard just to keep yourself busy”
And the words keep on flowing but I never listen,
Stare, and I wait to return to my prison.
I swallow diazepan with warm milk and honey
I float in my world free of violence and money.
Secure from the sun and the city’s sharp angles
I revert to my dreams, my fears all untangle.
In my medicated dreams I sit on the grass,
But I wake in these walls and find two years have passed,
Then I shiver in the Summer and shine through December,
Because I’ve hidden the key someplace I can’t remember.