Trying to explain this disorder is like trying to break through a brick wall with a feather. It just won’t work.
I get that it doesn’t make sense, empirically, to starve yourself and to see food as the enemy. I get that logically there doesn’t seem to be a reason behind exercising so compulsively even when your bones ache and your skin bleeds.
But that’s why it’s a mental disorder. It’s not supposed to make sense. There’s not supposed to be a map that lets you figure out how things work; that A connects to B and so on and so forth. It’s irrational by its very definition.
And it has such a strong hold on me.
Right now I look in the mirror and see something worthy of disgust. I see the epitome of all that I hate and despise in this world. I see something unworthy of love, affection, or even like.
I want to be home. But I also know that to get home entails gaining even more weight. And then there’s a part of me that doesn’t feel motivated to go home. There’s a part of me that doesn’t feel motivated to do anything. That’s the depression. And then anxiety rears its ugly head and whispers that I’ll never amount to anything, that I’ll never be worthy, that everyone and everything they do will always be better than me and anything I could ever do.
Going back to school? Not a strong enough motivator.
I just… I just don’t feel like doing anything at all. And that’s the root of the problem. Because conquering an eating disorder involves doing so, so much. It requires all of you, constantly; incessantly, even.
And I just don’t have that to give right now. I’m a mess of pieces. Some of them have even been misplaced. Some of them might have been lost forever.
Eating Disorder 1, Emma 0.