There is one particular disordered thought I’ve always had, but never quite been able to express to anyone.
“I’ll recover only when I’m hospitalized“
Because only then, will I ‘sick enough‘ to be able to recover, even if recovery has always been the long term goal regardless. Why has hospitalization always been a goal? Why do I crave all the physical signs of damage to my body, as if to prove something? Why is sicker, better? The endless tugging, desire pooling in the crevices and empty spaces of a heart left in pieces. Something inside applauds the missed period, the dizzy spells, the constant shivering and cold, sharp bones- while the healthy blood tests and healthy heart and healthy body leaves an inexplicable, stinging pain. And the most painful of them all? A healthy weight.
It’s not the kind of thing you bring up in everyday conversation.
The desire comes and goes in waves, but the fire never really put out. A part of me quietly shuns these thoughts and desires that nobody-can-ever-know, a certain shame in the knowledge that all of this exists in the workings of a disordered mind. Yet all the gears click perfectly in place. It makes perfect sense in the hierarchy of the disordered mind. If every dizzy spell and low number is an accomplishment, hospitalization is the ultimate victory. If I’m hospitalized, that surely means I’ll finally be sick enough. good enough. I’ll finally be good enough, for once.
That was my benchmark for recovery.
A part of me still wants to get to that point, but part of me also realizes how stupid it is to destroy myself and my body for a fake sense of control and a temporary peace of mind. I want move forward, and yet I want to fling myself as far back as I can before doing so, as if I needed to make the journey harder than it already is.
There are many times where I doubt it, the thought comes and goes, circling in an orbit- but deep down, I want to recover eventually. I need to pick myself up, stop being such a coward and chose to recover. I need to stop being scared of living and actually just fucking live. I need to stop being so absolutely terrified of happiness and everything good that I actually want. I’ve spent almost an entirety of my teenage years living this way, I don’t want to spend my whole life
living surviving with these disorders. I need to recover eventually.
I need to, but I don’t want to.
Yes, even after all these years and everything I’ve learnt- I still feel like I need to be ‘sick enough‘ before I can consider recovery. I don’t know what ‘sick enough‘ looks like or if I’ll ever even get there, but I want to try anyway. I want to wander so close to the edge that if I reached out far enough, I might finally soar. I need to. I need to just be good enough for once in my life, good enough at something. I need to be thin, I need to be sick, I need my body to fail on me. I need the
numbness euphoria of emptiness. I need to fly and I can’t stop until I hit rock bottom. or maybe I’ll finally fly away from everyone, and everything , and all this pain, floating into nonexistence.
like a train going on full speed ahead, I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. I couldn’t even find the will to want to.
Perhaps I’ll never recover, or maybe I’m not even sick at all to begin with. Maybe I’ll never be satisfied, never be sick enough. Maybe the taste of heaven we’re so desperately searching for is but a highway to hell. The thing about living with an eating disorder, is that you’re not really living. A life dictated by numbers and fears and numbness is not much of a life at all. When I step outside of this disorder to look around, I realize I’m so very, very lost. At least the numbers are a compass, easy to follow, even if it leads me nowhere.
41 40 39 38 37 36 35
Will it ever be enough?
Will you find me then?
The very last voice holding onto reason
is fading into a mere whisper,
and the others growing impatient.
I’m sorry if I lose myself,
in an endless pursuit
for perfection and control
a rose-tinted portrait of your ultimate goal weight / like somehow, seeing that number would bring order to a chaotic
mind world, make everything okay again
a taste of euphoria
a peace of mind
or simply, self-destruction?
numb the world / pretend everything is okay / something to hold onto / spinning until you’re off the rails
fading into nothing.
Though I suppose,
You can’t lose yourself if you’re already lost.
Whatever it takes
I just need to find myself,
even if it means going further into this labyrinth
and praying I come out alive.
Perhaps I should have stopped and turned around, but
perhaps this will take me where I need to be
i don’t know.
I just hope we find ourselves somewhere,
and all I can hope is at the end of it all,
I stumble outside the labyrinth
ready to live.