No One Ever Said it Would Be So Hard

(Thanks, Coldplay.)

Right now my disorder is impossibly overbearing. My team is meeting right now and going to come in to talk with me after they do. But for the moment it feels like my heart is racing a thousand miles an hour and my mind is light years ahead of that. I can’t look at or think about food but it’s all I can do. I don’t want to look at other people because then I wonder about what they were eating and how much they weigh. I don’t ever think critically about them. Just myself. Then I start feeling fat, and anxious, and depressed. Then I try and compromise with myself and say “Maybe it would be okay if I gained five pounds. I probably already have anyways.” For a second I’ll be okay with that. A heartbeat. And then the cycle starts again. And again. And then new feelings like shame and guilt and horror start to get thrown into the mix. It all just percolates until it’s one big conglomeration, one giant cocktail, of horribleness. 

Lying here in an alarmed bed unable to move only makes it worse. I can’t see the sun or the outside world, which is horribly depressing. I can’t feel like I’m burning any calories, which drives me up a wall like you would not believe. And I get so bored and so antagonized that it just capitalizes on all of the things I’m already feeling and heightens all of the negatives.

My particular roommate at the moment also happens to have horrible migraines and trouble eating due to medical conditions. So this means I’m constantly stuck in a dark room with someone complaining about having to eat at all. I can’t think of a worse environment. It’s everything I can do to not run screaming out into the hallway right now, though I’d probably collapse about halfway to the door from the exhaustion of all these feelings.

What a happy birthday this is turning out to be, and it’s not even eleven in the morning. And I still have lunch to worry about in two and a half hours. This is such hell.

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