Long Struggle

Sometimes this struggle feels like tis too much

Sometimes all you want is to know when it’s going to end

Because every day I tell myself it will end tomorrow, simply so that I can carry on, because if it remind myself that this illness isn’t going to vanish overnight I don’t know if I’d be able to carry on

Every day I find myself pretending to be somebody I am not in the hope that the part of me which I dislike will disappear, but of course it doesn’t, because you cannot exterminate a part of your personality

Pretending that a substantial part of my personality doesn’t exist is tiring and destructive, because it is such a huge part of me and to pretend it isn’t there is borderline impossible but I think it’s the only way to survive sometimes. Because otherwise I think it would kill you.

Sometimes I just wonder what it is I am doing. Why do I bother trying to fight this because at the lowest times I have more than doubt that I won’t defeat it; I virtually have certainty that it is stronger than me and I question why I pretend this isn’t so.

I feel like I have been beaten into being nothing; abused, I have been sacrificed for the life of bulimia to continue on my behalf, totally against my will. But now I question how much more I will be beaten like this? How much more I will be told I don’t deserve to live life inside my body? How much more will this voice reel out worthlessness and mutilate my mind with such burdens?

Is it trying to kill me? Am I fighting a premature death that isn’t meant to kill me but just might because it is so desperately overwhelming at times like this?

I tell myself, tomorrow will be better, it will be different, I will be stronger and more capable of shaking off this illness. But I never am, and that is so devastating. I am almost weaker for believing that tomorrow will be different, it breaks me a little bit more each time I wake up and am still unable to fight it. It chips away at me with every day I fail to beat it.

I have even given up on talking about this illness because I realise there is no feasible solution that can wave a wand upon the problem and wipe it away, clear the slate of a sickened past. This is also because it is gradually getting better and I rarely feel the need to offload, but it is indeed mainly that I have given up. I know with time this will get better so what is the point discussing it? When it gets too painful, I have learnt ways to fight it myself. I cry, I write, I think, and I wait for the despair to subside and numb itself into a false feeling of dignity in which I am a strong fighter.

When I feel this despair it is like I have taken my armour off. I feel so vulnerable. It is like I have been fighting a bloodthirsty battle without thought for what I am doing, then at the end of a long bout of fighting I peel my armour away and look down at what I have become and I crumble. I feel so alone because everyone else is still coated in armour, still glistening in strong silver whilst I am naked and weak and every inch of me is visible to the human eye, I can be read. I know that soon I will be teasing the armour back on and returning to this person that I pretend I am and gradually that person will become me. I won’t need to take that armour off anymore because I will be accustomed to the weight of it, the heat, the feeling of it. But it takes a while to adjust after being so sensitive and bare for so many years, it takes a while to be like everyone else. Strong.

Tonight I don’t feel scared. I don’t even really feel alone. I just feel so, so sad. So sad when I look at how I used to be. I even look upon anorexia with nostalgia because at least it wasn’t as cruel as bulimia, not to me. I look back on the time food was not a battle, my body didn’t sicken me, I didn’t question my own self-worth based on that of everyone around me. I look back on the time exercise would be done for a bit of fun, not as if my life depended on it. I look back on the times before I had an eating disorder and I wonder, what on earth happened? How did this come to destroy my life? Where did it come from? Who would I be if it had never happened – would I be better off, or worse? Why have I got this weighing me down? When will it be done? What must I do to empty my body of this monster that is sapping off my strength? What’s it going to take? How much more does it require? What else is it going to take from me aside from strength, relationships, happiness, belief, self-worth, dignity, hope? Is that not enough for it? Is my diminished pride not enough mockery of me to make it go now? Has my mentality not been stained enough yet?

Even if somebody told me I’d have another 2 years of this at least I would have a goal to work towards. But I have no idea. I could be better in 2 months or it could be with me forever, just ‘tamed’ a little.

Like a parasite this illness is sapping life from me. I feel drained from it. Exhausted. It takes my life from me so that it can grow, it finds nourishment from me, it finds strength from my increasing weakness.

It lives off me, and I wonder if I have what it takes to let it die?

I guess I should put the armour back on now. I should keep being strong. Because I know I will kill it, sometimes I just have to question this to remind myself that the answer is yes, I can do it. 

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One Response to Long Struggle

  1. anna says:

    “I tell myself, tomorrow will be better, it will be different, I will be stronger and more capable of shaking off this illness. But I never am, and that is so devastating. I am almost weaker for believing that tomorrow will be different, it breaks me a little bit more each time I wake up and am still unable to fight it. It chips away at me with every day I fail to beat it.” I love this, i think the same thing and it honestly feels comforting to see that someone is going through the same thing…. lets try to stay strong.

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