paradox

why do I find myself constantly yearning?

for life and adventure and a momentary thrill

for love and sheer unadulterated bliss

yearning for deeper valleys and higher peaks

yearning for more

to hit a new goal weight, a new high, to see how far I can go

I don’t know if it will ever be enough.

why do I find myself attracted to everything that takes me away?

away from life, away from reality

away from pain

I run away in art and daydreams

in books and magical fictional worlds

in travelling and exploring

I run away in numbers and numbness and control

even if it’s just a mirage

I run as fast as I can, until I find myself

lost.

// I suppose that’s just who I am, and it manifests itself in different ways, good and bad. I see the good in everything, viewing brokenness through rose-tinted glasses- but I fall trap to idealism and escapism. I’m drawn to the stars and the ocean and the great unknown, I’m drawn to self-destruction and numbing pain- anything that will take me away. I find meaning in anything and everything, I see more and feel more and want more. Sometimes it’s never enough. This chaotic, kaleidoscopic soul of mine will take me on adventures and travel the world and climb mountains and meet people and learn and live. It will also lead me straight into the dark woods, jump headfirst into the rabbit hole and never find a way out, trapped by chains of fear and insecurity and the pure wrath of self-hatred. 

perhaps if you knew me, you’d get a better glimpse at how my eating disorder is a part of who I am, or how the best and worst parts of me are actually the same- and I can’t quite figure it out. 

fading into nothing

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.

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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,

somehow

and all I can hope is at the end of it all,

I stumble outside the labyrinth

ready to live.

flavors of life

I see good things I cannot grasp,

laughing with friends over a meal after school

a mug of rich, hot chocolate on a rainy day

sharing an ice-cream sundae on a date

cooking grandma’s special chicken curry

having a the best sandwiches after a long walk

enjoying a cookie and a coffee, just because

a blissful unawareness of numbers

I see nuggets of happiness

head tilted back and laughter erupting

little fingers grasping onto mum’s hand

sunshine beaming through the foliage

people talking and walking

and living

Flavors of life.

I see the sunlight as I stay in the shadows,

comfortable and alone.

I don’t know what it means to live in the sun

how to grasp the good things,

life, and happiness, and freedom.

it’s not just restricting calories

it’s restricting laughter and memories

and all the flavors of life.

Bitterness, sweetness,

a melting pot of spices

warm cinnamon coffee and good conversations

takeaway street food and walks around town

chocolate ice cream and a long cry

freshly brewed soup and a family reunion

leftover cheesy pizza and disney movie nights

when did we start counting numbers

and stop savoring flavors?

I don’t know how to eat

i don’t know how to live

Raindrops

It’s been a sad day.

Sadness isn’t always a raging hurricane.

Sometimes it just is.

Just here.

A gentle pitter-patter of raindrops.

It’s quiet presence,

slowly chipping away at the soul.

It’s been a sad day

but this too shall pass.

you are also fire

I’ve always been a child of the water

the Pisces, the fish

quiet, intuitive, mutable.

But I’m also starting to realize

maybe I have fire inside me

not a cracking, burning flame

but it slowly simmers inside.

I will never be the sunlight

never be loud or bright or bold

but I am at home in the night

soft, sensitive

a gentle moonlit glow.

All my life I’ve felt less than,

invisible.

All my life I’ve lived in the shadows.

But I’m slowly starting to realize,

I have light inside.

And I think

Someday, this light will take me places

Someday, the flames will fuel me

I have fire inside.

Fire that comes from feeling too much

Loving too much

Caring too much

Fire that comes from knowing exactly who I want to be, what I stand for

Maybe he was wrong

Sensitivity isn’t a weakness,

It is my light.

Now I know,

I don’t have to shine bright like them

I just have to shine like me, softly.

And someday I will shine

unafraid of laughing

unafraid of feeling

unafraid of living

I am water, but I am also fire.

avalanche

avalanche, I called it

everything seems to be split into two

‘before’ and ‘after’

I don’t remember how things were before

I don’t remember how it feels to live in this body

all that’s left now is a shell

I’m slowly float

float

floating away

it feels like everyone can see them

the hands around my waist

hands on my thigh

hands around my neck

maybe if they saw, they would understand

the hands all belonging to different people

please don’t touch me

i no longer know which hands to trust

maybe if they saw, they would understand

it’s not just the hands

it’s the words hitting where it hurt the most

it’s crying and fear

it’s the complete loss of control

it’s every time I wanted to jump off

it’s having to deal with it all

alone

so much pain I never knew where it started, or stopped

so much pain it was always easier to rip myself apart

if only I could step out of this skin

just like the cuts that once covered my body

the hands now seem to brand me

except nobody can see them

or why I can no longer put myself together

i was broken to begin with anyway

defected goods

does an avalanche matter?

 

rag-doll girl

I feel like a broken puppet, barely held together with a thread

and if i let the thorny voices get any closer

my head cloudier

the cheap stitches holding me together will break

i feel like i’m this close to falling apart, any wrong move will break me, so i have to stay in control i have to not feel. i’m so sad inside but i’m trying to keep myself together, trying to keep holding on to the threads when i just want to unravel them all and let this rag-doll girl fall apart.

i have to keep going, find ways to stitch myself up and bury the pain and feelings and sadness deep deep inside. control will be the key- if the numbers are in control and the food is in control and the scale is dropping, everything will be okay. i have to believe in that. not in therapists who try to help you recover or friends who look out for you or family you want to have a meal with. nothing matters as much as control. 

maybe a part of me wants to get better but every time i do, something inside screams i don’t deserve it. and i don’t. i’m not sick, i don’t have a disorder. it isn’t a problem- i’m the problem. i can’t trust anyone or anything anymore so let’s build these walls back up and make the fortress impenetrable before it’s too late.

Swim

The waves are crashing down, all over again

All around

Those flimsy fortresses gone

fortresses of lies and restriction

fortresses of emptiness and numbers

fortresses that were never strong

I was never really in control
Sometimes

It’s easier to let the waves take over

Easier to submerge myself headfirst

Drowning was not feeling

Drowning was instant relief

Numbness that comes from filling and emptying and filing and emptying

Numbness, too, can be a lie
After the numb, comes the storm

Worse than before
Fortresses or not,

It never really ceases

sadness never stops

Never good enough

Always too much

Not safe

Sometimes not anything at all
Numbness or not,

Pain is pain

It’s all just anaesthesia

For something I cannot heal

A hole inside too big

Pieces too broken to stitch together
I need a fortress- my fortress

It might be broken but it’s all I have

It’s all I want (need)

Build a stronger lighthouse

A bigger lifeboat

The waves are crashing down

But I’ll keep Swimming
No more jumping into the deep end

I have to swim

Before I sink

into an endless ocean of self-hatred

Gone forever

wrong/right

It’s wrong/It’s wrong/It’s wrong

I tell myself

as I slowly turn back

another disordered forum

another depressing re-blog

another suicide search

another triggering book

I know it’s wrong

Or maybe it’s not right

I can’t tell the difference anymore

If it’s wrong

Why does this feel so right?

Why does my sadness sit so well within me,

Why do I not want to find the light?

//

(but I’m okay. I’m still okay. I’m more okay than I ever used to be and I don’t know if it’s good or bad. I’m still okay and a part of me wants to leave that okay-ness behind, to forget that life is okay and people are okay and love is out there because sadness is familiar. I miss my sadness, I really miss my sadness. I miss self-destruction. tonight, I miss it so much)

Be Patient With Me

I want to tell you about depression
I want to tell you how
it doesn’t really give a damn
not about anyone

How it numbs
and steals
leaves you alone, helpless
in the wake of only guilt

How it unsuspectingly creeps in
and when you realise
you’re too stuck to pull yourself out
it always comes back

At best, a haunting shadow
At worst, a harrowing pain
I want to tell you it gets better
it gets better but
it’s still there

Perhaps I’ll never find all the words
to tell you what it’s like
Just please
be patient with me