I've been trying to lose weight. What's new?
Note that the key word is trying. Yes, I have lost 5 pounds, but does it count as a loss when there was an initial gain in the first place? I should never have had 5 pounds to lose! In fact, I should never have been this size to begin with. Fat is inversely proportional to self-discipline, so here I am, lacking all self-control. I already take up so much space in this world, and I feel greedy, selfish, imposing, and so unworthy of all the room that I am keeping to myself. It just seems so unfair sometimes that I am like this, and I feel as though if I were smaller that I would be more respected, would receiver fewer stares, and perhaps finally be lost amongst the crowd. But at 5'7", all 140 lbs of me can be spotted all too easily. For once, I don't want to be remembered as the fat friend, always looked upon with pity and sympathetic glances.
And while I know that there is a way to accomplish this--eating healthily, exercising, drinking water, and sleeping...so many of those things I refuse to do. I lie awake at night, intentionally preventing myself from falling asleep in order to put off tomorrow. I rarely drink water because I spend too much time drinking coffee to make up for my lack of sleep.I don't eat healthily because I either feel too guilty to eat or I binge/purge. And I struggle to exercise because when starving, I have too little energy, and after purging, I am too dizzy.
The result is me in a constant state of denial, depression, and guilt. My mind is always thinking about all the things I've done wrong and concocting grandiose plans to fix my problems. When I see that my teeth are rotting, I grow concerned solely because of the high price it will cost me to get it fixed. And when my chest hurts, I idly wonder if it's merely a bruised rib or potentially a heart problem developing. I know how I will feel, and I know I will feel worse. And yet, I can't imagine my life without this because this is all I've truly known. It's become a part of me that I've grown to accept and hate, though I can't let it go. Who would I be without my insanity? Who would I be if I slept peacefully? Who would I be if I didn't envision shadows and phantoms behind me, threatening to swallow me whole?
I can't imagine my life as anything but what it is. The only thing I can do is remember that tomorrow is a brand new day, and despite my efforts, I will wake up to the same guilty feeling, the same self-destructive pattern, and all around, the same old agonizing shame.