Angry

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I’m angry. After a week of starving and purging, I’ve only lost two pounds. Damn it.

I’m exhausted today. Woke up, “ate breakfast,” purged, went to the gym and bicycled for 18.5 miles, came back and actually ate some semblance of lunch, attempted to interact with people and had to go crash in my room because I could barely stand up without my heart pounding, was subsequently late to work that I forgot about, and now I’m hungry. I don’t want to be hungry. I want to be not hungry. I want to be thinner.

I don’t even know why I want to be thinner. It’s not even the state of being thin I want, but the fact of having lost weight. I want to be plummeting down the scales – as long as it’s a scary number I don’t care which one it is. I want to be in danger. I don’t actually want to lose the body that I have right now. I actually kind of like it. I don’t want to be deathly skinny. I just want to be skinnier. And I want my weight to be low enough that it’s a problem. That people will look at me and tell me that I need help. That I can be justified in wanting help. I mean, a BMI of 19.5? Come on. Nobody’s going to look at me and think, “oh, yeah, she’s suffering from an eating disorder and should totally get help.” They’re just going to look at me and think, “hunh? What?”

It sucks that my outsides don’t match my insides. I mean, I get that it’s a blessing that my body isn’t completely fucked over, but mentally, it makes things so much harder. Mentally, it tells me that I have no fucking right to just drop my life and go into treatment, that the fact that I can barely keep anything down anymore these days or that I’m searching the internet looking for the best weight loss pill or that I’m jumping between pro-ana sights or that I can hardly think straight because God knows what all the purging has done to my body chemsitry or that I’m actively choosing my eating disorder, even if you can’t see it – mentally, it tells me that all that isn’t enough. That I need to be worse. That I – and everybody else – needs to be able to see it in order for me to deserve help.

And I’m holding back tears as I write this because I’m working the front desk in the library and I can’t cry here. Probably wouldn’t let myself cry most places, anyway.

I am holding back tears. I’m holding back tears, because I’m angry.

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