Pain of Everyday.
The pressure to succeed is always there. The pain of failure is always ready to collapse on your shoulders. I always fail. Every day of my life consists of small failures. Theyíre occasionally accompanied by a miniscule success, but loss must always follow. I starve, I win. I eat, I fail.
Anorexia is the best thing on the planet. You lose weight and people notice. You feel beautiful, amazing, on top of the world. But then people start worrying; ďHave you been eating enough?Ē, ďAre you sick or something?Ē, and ďWhy donít you want lunch?Ē are the common questions. You like these questions. You WANT people to see how much weight youíve lost. You want them to tell you to eat, because you know youíll have the willpower to say ďNo, thanksĒ.
The inevitable always follows: a binge. The hunger gets to be too much, and after living with only half of a granola bar each day (because having a full 90 calorie granola bar is unacceptable) the urges becomes too powerful. You give in. You drown in the feeling the food gives you. It fills your stomach, it makes you happy, and it tastes wonderful after the long days of the emptiness in your stomach. Before you know it, youíve eaten over 800 calories. Youíre thinking to yourself, Iím so stupid, Iím so selfish, Iím a pig, Iím a big, fat failure.
Oh, how guilty you will feel. But thereís a way out of that guilt, now isnít there? Stick your fingers down your throat and those calories will be right out your stomach in no time! You donít ever care about the consequences of your actions. You just need the feeling of emptiness, because thatís when you know youíve had a successful day.
Even though youíve purged all you can from your binge, youíre still feeling guilty, so you take a nice 6 mile run the next morning to get rid of all those calories that might have been left behind. Youíre dizzy, nauseated, and weak. Itís been such a great day, hasnít it?
Youíre constantly worried about people looking at how fat you are. Youíre obsessed with touching the prominent bones sticking out of your skin; your hipbones, your ribs, your wrists. Almost like a ritual, you touch the excess fat that you feel is hanging off your body. Youíre disgusted with yourself. The outlandish goals that youíve set for yourself arenít being reached fast enough. You need to try harder.
Itís almost funny how much you strive to be skin and bones. You keep setting new goals, new weights to reach. Once you reach those, you set the numbers lower and lower. Sooner or later, the people around you start realizing what youíre doing. They try to help, but they canít. Youíre too far into this cycle. You ignore their pleas because they donít know how it feels to be this fat. You look at yourself in the mirror and youíre welcomed with your ugly, fat reflection. The only way to fix the way you look is to drop another 5, 10, 15, 20 pounds.
Crazy diets, pills, laxatives, drugs. You turn to them for comfort. You tell people itís because the pills make you feel good, or the drugs help you relax and have a good time, but they all have one thing in common: they help you lose weight. Soon, one addiction leads to another. You take the pills like candy. You abuse the drugs because you need the high to get your mind off of food. At least youíre getting skinnier. At least youíre able to see some weight dropping off. Thereís a load left, though. When will it all be over? Not anytime soon, youíre still a disgusting excuse for a human being. Why am I still alive? Youíre not even sure. Why can no one see how much pain Iím in? Because they only see a fat, ugly girl. Why am I still doing this to myself? You repeat the same lies to yourself everyday: Iím doing this to be beautiful, to feel good, and to never have to worry about my weight again. Why do I believe those lies? Why?