Slipping

I feel myself slipping further and further into the mirror and it terrifies me.  I want to fight but I am so so tired.

Into the looking glass

As I get deeper and deeper into my eating disorder it becomes harder to see my way out.  When I stand up now, my head spins.  I've stopped calling treatment facilities- stopped signing up for studies and am wanting to stop therapy because none of these people seem to understand that I don't know if I have the capacity any longer to get better.

I'm 19 years old, I'm looking at a vastly abbreviated lifespan and while I'm not okay with that I think that I accept it.

Food terrifies me.  I love to cook so I cook up the most beautiful looking food and I stare at it when it's completed and try desperately to will it away.  I can no longer eat anything that has more than three ingrediants because food, especially when its not in its simplest form, just seems so complicated.  Everything seems complicated lately; food, breathing, eating, sleeping, school.

If I don't get the Tracey Gold Project, I am moving to Colorado.

Thought's aren't making sense anymore, I keep going in and out.

Austen

Ambivilent

I'm constantly going back and forth with my eating disorder.  I want to be better but I don't know how to cope without my eating disorder because its all I know.  I cling to it like its my salvation, hold to starvation like it's my savior and turn my thinspiration into goddesses and look to them if they might teach me not to need.  My therapist talks about the different parts of me: the hurt, neglected, child, the rebellious, angry teenager and the present me.  When she talks about this present me I sometimes wonder who she is refering to.  Is it Austen the the bulimic, the anoretic, the EDNOS, the dissociative identity disorder, the whore, the prostitute, the rape victim, the student?  Or is it Austen the broken, the confused the hurt and the in pain.  The girl who hates her body so much that she desperately tries to carve away at it with knives and purging and restricting and running until she collapses.  The girl who can no longer go two hours without her eating disorder, the girl who no longer knows when she ends and her eating disorder begins.

I reread Wasted over and over again and the last sentence in the book reads: In the end, there is the letting go.  That is just something that right now, I can't do.

Austen

Maddness

I can't decide if I'm mad or if eating disorders are maddening.  But then again what's the difference?  Everything hurts.  Every inch of my body screams and aches with need but I run, I starve, I purge, I do anything to make it shut up.  I feel like I don't even function anyone; like somewhere along the line my soul gave up and died.  This person, this girl who purges and starves and ignores her friends and family and hates and wants to slip into oblivion-she cannot be me.  This cannot be my life, this cannot be what I was meant for.

I cup my hip bones, count my ribs, and feel validated so I continue through the rabbit hole, into the looking glass-whatever you want to call it.  I feel like somewhere along the way I've given up on life.  I want desperately for someone to save me but I know that I wouldn't let them if they tried.

Austen