says my eating disorder to the girl at work constantly talking about diets, exercise, weight and weight loss.
I’m fed up after months and months and months and months of it.
And while I’m sure as hell not relapsing just to spite her, it doesn’t stop my eating disorder from feeling proud that it can beat her at weight loss and pain and self-destruction.
But deep down, within my healthy mind, I know that this doesn’t make me stronger than anyone. I only become weaker for giving in to the eating disorder.
I don’t win at all. I lose.. so much.. and already have.
“she’s put on weight, hasn’t she! I won’t tell her that. But she looks good. She looks healthy!”… Not knowing that I was in the room next door, fully able to hear every word she was saying.
Earlier in the day I had a conversation with another woman about being vegetarian. She was quite surprised to hear that I was, informing me that I look like a “healthy” vegetarian… whatever that’s supposed to even mean. Weighty enough? Slim enough? I don’t know. I’ve seen vegetarians of every size.
The words are like bombs going off, only now, they’re a little further off into the distance. The ED voice is there, but small and unsure. It panics, saying, “oh God, you’ve put on so much weight,” and I respond, “yeah, but I’m healthy now,” and it asks me, “but, is that okay?”
And I say, “yes. Yes it is.”
We all fall down.
I’m artificially fixing myself with self-destruction: drugs, starvation and no sleep. I’m holding the torn bits back together with tape, if you will. It works enough to fool myself and enough to fool the world. The cracks are there, as obvious as broad daylight, but if there’s one thing I’ve learnt in life, it’s that people will turn a blind eye.
I couldn’t give a shit about my weight or appearance. I’m always the same monster despite the body I hide behind. This is about my insides. This is about the filthy fragility that presents itself when health dominates my body. This is about what falls apart and becomes exposed when people get past my body and into my mind, digging for the root of fragmentation, fragmenting me further in the process. I flake off and fly into the night.
For some, this is about control, but for me I prefer the word adhesion. The numbness that keeps me bound. No one can tear me apart and nothing can break me. Numb I may be, but numb I am as one. I fly into the night, complete, and watch the world fade behind me.