fix me

What you can’t understand about my anorexia is that it is my safe place. My shell of a body becomes a place of refuge. It is my solace. It allows me to escape trauma, heartache, and literally any other feeling.

Treatment has a similar feeling though it may not be as strong.

I dream of my disorder. I google image search my past treatment facilities and fantasize about what it would feel like to be trapped in those walls again. I hated being there. But I was also cared for there.

Like a drug, my disorder takes me into another world. I don’t feel, I don’t think, and I don’t care.

I’m dealing with so many feelings right now that all I can do is think about escaping them. I want to run so far away from them that I never have to feel anything ever again. I don’t think I was made to withstand the intense emotional pain that the world throws at me.

Dialectically, I’m strong as hell. I take on pain that isn’t mine to carry. I let pain come my way because I’d rather hurt than see anyone else suffer.

I’m weirdly optimistic too. I let myself suffer in hopes that what is forcing me to suffer will make me feel good one day. I see that in my disorder and in relationships. I see good in everyone. I don’t see the guy cheating on his girlfriend as a douchebag, I see his confusion and I sympathize with him. I don’t think the girl who tries to kill herself is selfish, I see her pain and I honor the hell out of her struggle.

I feel everything. Right now, I feel everything.

In my disorder I feel nothing and that is so much easier.

I often say that I’ve never been mad because I don’t know that I have the capacity to be mad at anyone else; I’m only ever mad at myself. I take everything as a flaw of my own instead of seeing at as a flaw in someone else. I’m carrying the weight of the world and as much of a flaw as that is in me, it’s a lot easier than feeling real, raw pain.

My heart breaks for myself but it also breaks for everyone else and that is a lot of pain for one soul.