Shake me up

Somehow, this is insane, I feel ashamed over my binges cause it's not anorexia enough. I feel like a failure at my eating disorder, like I should be able to prevent binges altogether. But it is strongly connected to my severe restriction. I've never binged in my entire life before eating disorder came up in it. It wasn't until I had starved for about two weeks that I caved in for my first binge ever.

I know it's just my body going into a frenzy as a means of pure survival, but I do hate my lack of control over the whole situation. Like, it's going so fine for days after days without me experiencing any problems with my restriction and then just bam, I eat everything in the house. It scares me, that greed and it's disgusting.

But I do understand why it happens and I also know that it doesn't make me any less eating disordered. On the contrary, it just proves how fucked up my eating behaviour is. My lack of control proves that I'm being choked by the ghosts of my mind, feeding me with ideas that I'm too fat to be allowed to eat.

Cause it's true, and it desperately holds me on a leash, tightened to the throat. I don't have any control over it anymore. I can smile and pretend that I've got it all under control, that it's entirely my on conscious decision to starve myself beyond what is deadly dangerous just to get thin, because I've tried everything else and I'm fucking desperate. But I can't explain as to why I still think I'm fat even though I'm just a breath away from being underweight.

I'm trying to reason with my own mind even though I know that is pointless. Like looking for air at the bottom of the ocean, or trying to move mountains cause you can't see the horizon. It's pointless, but what else can I do? All I want is to understand it, that's literally all I want. 

It's like I need it, you know, almost like I crave mental instability. It's a form of comfort, I wouldn't know how to deal with normal. And normal is boring. Eating disorder, call it what you want, but it's not boring. It's dangerous, deadly, horrible, scary and frustrating, but at least I'm not bored. And most importantly: I have a goal. I feel like it brings me a sense of purpose in an otherwise meaningless, pointless life that always pushes me to the brink.

Yeah, that's sad. That's really, really sad, but it's how I feel. It's like a race, with a goal to aim for, a price awaiting you at the finish line. But there is no finish line and the prize won't be enjoyable. I'm fighting my own mind again cause to me, I really do think I'll be able to enjoy that prize, which is being thin. I truly believe that. And it's hard, to try to tell myself that it's not gonna be that way. Cause once I'm there, I will still think that I'm fat and in a desperate need to lose more weight.

But I can't. I can ramble the words, but I can't make myself believe in that. Maybe someone else can, maybe K, maybe my mother or maybe a doctor. Maybe being close to death could shake me up. I hope so. I really do. That one day someone or something will shake me back to reality and make me realise that I can't continue living like this.

But until then, I guess you'll just have to watch me getting thinner and thinner and sicker and sicker. There's nothing anyone can do about that, cause I simply cannot force myself into treatment when I'm not ready. When I don't want to, cause no one can teach me how to eat and think like a normal person again, it has to be me. Doctors and hospitals can only support, they can be with you and hold your hand, they can medicate or offer a bed, but that's pretty much it. It has to be me doing the work, and as long as I'm not ready, it's just not gonna happen.

I'm sorry, I really am. Cause I would never want to see a friend or family member giving up to an eating disorder like this. I can't imagine that pain, and even if I could, I would rather not. There's just so much going on right now and I can't tell black from white anymore. All I can do is write about it.