Long story short

Every day I tell myself tomorrow will be different. But what kind of a lifestyle is that? I tell myself I’ll be more confident, I’ll do everything right, I’ll be who I want to be, and most importantly I’ll be happy.

But, alas, when I wake up after sleeping for 8 hours I am, funnily enough, the same person I was prior to the kip. I am miserable, depressed, full of self-disgust, and my mind is loaded with the troubling thoughts of bulimia. These can’t be shaken off overnight. No, I can vouch for that.

It’s been almost 4 years. It started with anorexia… I loved the feeling of losing weight. No matter what went wrong, I was succeeding every day by starving myself and getting thinner. Then, when I’d discovered my mother cried herself to sleep because her daughter looked like a zombie with pale skin stretched over bones and nothing but straw for hair, I got help. Thing is, when I rediscovered food, I wanted to make up for all of the months of avoiding it. Well I didn’t want to. I was compelled to. I’d eat myself to feeling ill and became physically addicted to doing so. The same area of the brain responsible for addiction to drugs and alcohol becomes affected by this addiction to the fats and sugars of a binge. This scares me.

And that’s how I put on 5 stone in 12 months. Yepp, I gained over a third of my anorexic body weight in the space of one year. Can you imagine what that does to your confidence? To your self-worth? To your dignity and pride – when you eat so much you can’t walk due to stomach cramps and nausea, and loathe yourself because just yesterday you promised you’d never do it again?

I sound very sorry for myself, and I apologize. I am at a decent uni, I have a boyfriend, I have a lovely bunch of friends, I have a family who couldn’t support me more without fighting my problems for me, and if I could just lose weight I could be happy with my appearance (!!!!)

Yet here I am. Yesterdays make up is dribbling down my face like spilled ink down a broken story book. And I am faced with the age old dilemma. Do I starve myself today, or do I binge for the final time? (I somehow convince myself it’s true that it’ll be the last, despite being plagued by these thoughts for the best part of two and a half years). Will today be a good day, where I can take my mind of my weight and shape and food, and get on with my life? Or will it be one of those days destined to end in failure, because I can’t focus on anything but calories, or motivate myself into being the person I want to be

Truth is, I don’t know. And I won’t know until I go to sleep tonight, because my thoughts can switch from id to superego and vice versa with the blink of an eye. And even if I go to bed 700 calories lighter, I don’t know what I’ll feel when I wake up tomorrow.

I pinch the fat on my arm. It has to go but I am hooked on its existence.

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