July 2011
the good old days have died
“Words can never fully describe the fear, hatred, and overwhelming sadness that I awake with every morning. I know I am not alone with these feelings. I know there are hundreds, sadly millions who no doubt feel the same.
I’ll never be able to explain why I religiously wake up trying to decide if I’ll be eating that day. And if I do decide to eat, why my mind is instantly filled with an endless amount of thoughts about different foods. It’s a high greater than any drug I’ve ever tried. If I decide that it’s a “restricting day,” I start planning what will be eaten and when, as well as what time I’ll be able to exercise. I can’t seem to think of a word strong enough to describe how nervous I become when I think that something might conflict with my plan. What would I do if I have to go out to lunch instead of eating what I had planned, or how will I be able to exercise if it happens to rain? My heart races and doesn’t stop or slow down until I’m assured that my plan will be fulfilled or that I’ll be able to make up what I planned some how, another day.
I’ll never be able to describe the immense fear of eating in public, especially at restaurants. I don’t know why I’m scared to let other people with exception of my closest family prepare my food. I don’t know why I can’t get past the fear that everyone’s trying to sabotage me because they want me to be fat forever.
I can’t explain what it’s like to count calories or why I doubt their accuracy, thinking the manufacturer typed the wrong calorie amount or serving size. I can’t begin to describe the amount of trust it takes for me to believe that I did only have X amount of calories or how confused it makes my head when I recount the numbers over and over again, just to be reassured that I didn’t exceed my limit.
I wish I could put words to how my empty stomach feels when I pass through the aroma of good food or how it pains when I see others eat the food I can only crave. And why when I do indulge do I feel so guilty and sick to my stomach? I wish I could describe how it feels to sleep through the day because I simply have no energy or how I’m kept awake at night from a pounding headache and dizziness.
Words cannot begin to explain how it feels to be so painfully lonely, even in a room full of friends and loved ones. I can’t describe how much it hurts to crave laughter, but not even manage to crack a smile. I forget what it feels like to be happy, with my body, with my self. I can’t clearly depict how it feels to look in the mirror and not only hate what I see, but despise it. Or how I want to wish it all away, how I want to wish everything away.
I can’t explain what it’s like to think about death and wish it upon myself, that being my only truly pleasurable thought at most times. Or how I think about how easy it’d be to take too many pills or waste away slowly. Even a “freak” accident or shooting doesn’t seem so bad anymore. I couldn’t possibly describe how it feels to know that people would miss me, but not enough. Not enough to take the satisfaction out of dying.
I wish I could explain how it feels to have all of these feelings and know I’m the only one to blame. I cause all of my own inescapable pain. I am my own adversary. I am my own assassin.” —
I’ll never be able to explain why I religiously wake up trying to decide if I’ll be eating that day. And if I do decide to eat, why my mind is instantly filled with an endless amount of thoughts about different foods. It’s a high greater than any drug I’ve ever tried. If I decide that it’s a “restricting day,” I start planning what will be eaten and when, as well as what time I’ll be able to exercise. I can’t seem to think of a word strong enough to describe how nervous I become when I think that something might conflict with my plan. What would I do if I have to go out to lunch instead of eating what I had planned, or how will I be able to exercise if it happens to rain? My heart races and doesn’t stop or slow down until I’m assured that my plan will be fulfilled or that I’ll be able to make up what I planned some how, another day.
I’ll never be able to describe the immense fear of eating in public, especially at restaurants. I don’t know why I’m scared to let other people with exception of my closest family prepare my food. I don’t know why I can’t get past the fear that everyone’s trying to sabotage me because they want me to be fat forever.
I can’t explain what it’s like to count calories or why I doubt their accuracy, thinking the manufacturer typed the wrong calorie amount or serving size. I can’t begin to describe the amount of trust it takes for me to believe that I did only have X amount of calories or how confused it makes my head when I recount the numbers over and over again, just to be reassured that I didn’t exceed my limit.
I wish I could put words to how my empty stomach feels when I pass through the aroma of good food or how it pains when I see others eat the food I can only crave. And why when I do indulge do I feel so guilty and sick to my stomach? I wish I could describe how it feels to sleep through the day because I simply have no energy or how I’m kept awake at night from a pounding headache and dizziness.
Words cannot begin to explain how it feels to be so painfully lonely, even in a room full of friends and loved ones. I can’t describe how much it hurts to crave laughter, but not even manage to crack a smile. I forget what it feels like to be happy, with my body, with my self. I can’t clearly depict how it feels to look in the mirror and not only hate what I see, but despise it. Or how I want to wish it all away, how I want to wish everything away.
I can’t explain what it’s like to think about death and wish it upon myself, that being my only truly pleasurable thought at most times. Or how I think about how easy it’d be to take too many pills or waste away slowly. Even a “freak” accident or shooting doesn’t seem so bad anymore. I couldn’t possibly describe how it feels to know that people would miss me, but not enough. Not enough to take the satisfaction out of dying.
I wish I could explain how it feels to have all of these feelings and know I’m the only one to blame. I cause all of my own inescapable pain. I am my own adversary. I am my own assassin.” —
Eat My Heart: Words can’t explain.
(via whatssleftofme)
this, this. always this. these words are so true it hurts.
(via grandparemington)
“I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge. That myth is more potent than history. That dreams are more powerful than facts. That hope always triumphs over experience. That laughter is the only cure for grief. And I believe that love is stronger than death.”
—Robert Fulghum (via alphabetical-)
