It becomes our sole companion. It is the thing that makes us strong, so that we don’t need, don’t want and don’t feel. It is our cape of invisibility. With it on you can not see us, you can not see our pain and shame, we begin to disappear. Slowly at first and then before you know it we are gone. Lost in a world of pain. Always fighting for control that we never seem to get.
There’s a big difference, I discovered, between wanting to die and not wanting to live. When you want to die, you at least have a goal. When you don’t want to live, you’re really just empty.
I cannot stand when people casually say someone “looks anorexic”. Anorexia is not a synonym for thin, it is a life-shattering mental illness that should not be taken lightly.
I am reluctant and sad to admit that I do believe that this illness will be the death of me - maybe not today, not tomorrow, maybe not even in a year or five years… but it has its bony fingers wrapped so tightly around my life, my every breath and heartbeat. I believe that there is no real way out for me… and this nightmare will consume every day until I die… and a strong sense in me believes that I will perish prematurely… one day. Because I am not strong enough. Because I stopped being human so long ago.
This disease, I fear, is endless. No number will ever be enough. No number of bones piercing through will satisfy me. This is so much more than an attempt to gain control, so much more than being thin. This is me showing the world to leave me be. I want my body to be as ugly on the outside as it is the inside. I want to be unreachable, nonexistent. I want to scare people away from me. All I ever deserved was to suffer in solitude, to eventually let my body kill itself. I deserve every hunger pang, every sore throat, every ulcer and negative emotion. I feel I deserve this cold, bitter pain that has become my life.
I either want to be completely recovered or completely emaciated. It’s the in between that I can’t stand, the limbo of failure where you know that you haven’t done your best at one or the other: dying or living.
Loneliness does not come from having no people around one, but from being unable to communicate the things that seem important to oneself, or from holding certain views which others find inadmissible.
At some juncture, her subjective perspective and self-loathing culminated with the illness and immersion in total turmoil and confusion. She has lost her way.
