somewhere, hiding. Somewhere too afraid to come out. Afraid if you get rid of your packaging, that I may become a victim again. Sooner or later, I will find you skinny girl.
Right now you're hiding behind my eating disorder, and I'm fighting you. Fighting you tooth and nail.
My eating disorder is getting the best of me. The incessant taunting of "you're not good enough because you're fat" and "look at that mess you've become" or "go ahead and blame it on the meds, whatever..." is enough. I can't stand to hear it anymore. I know if I fall back into controlling what I eat and what I don't - and what I puke and what I don't - will get me results I want to see - and who knows and who doesn't - doesn't matter. I am facing this head on.
Somehow, I have to get a break through. I have never had a harder time in my life losing weight than I do right now. Part of it, I think, is an oxymoron. If I get skinny I will feel better but risk becoming a victim again as I might appear more pleasant to the opposite sex.
This impending doom I feel is overwhelming. I have far too much on my plate and not enough hours in my day to get it done. Forget taking care of myself. Home from work, cook dinner, check in with the world, do the house duties, get the kids ready for bed, crash.
I am at a breaking point.
No.
Seriously.
At...
My....
Wits...
End....
and all I hear are echoes....
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