Smukke

Smukke is the Danish word for beautiful, and it’s pronounce “smoo-gg-uh.” Not exactly a beautiful sound, but that’s what I love about it. That such an ugly word can have such power. Because what is beauty if it’s not power. Power to motivate, to depress, to ruin one’s life. Beauty is the power that can drive one to so thoroughly lose themselves in something so shallow. 

Someone new came into treatment today, and right from the start I felt like she was trying to force her thoughts into my mind. I’ve been in the world of eating disorders long enough to know that size doesn’t define sickness. But she was trying to convince me that since she was larger, I must be judging her. And was I? Not until after she said that. I like to try and give everyone a fair chance. But as soon as someone tries to tell me what I’m thinking, I get defensive. 

And with the arrival of someone new in the group, is the temporary departure of someone else, and I hate when our group changes. Four people left program in the past few weeks, and now one of the girls is taking a week away. I find that the amazing thing in program is the way you can relate to someone who I might never have though to talk to in “real life.” A lot of times in group, when people talk, I tend to go somewhere else, but when this girl talks I get so into what she’s saying. It always scare me when people leave, because I care about these girls a lot, and I really want them all to be okay. 

I still really wonder if I’m ever going to get better. It’s seeming harder and harder. I struggle through meals still, and with everything falling apart at home, I don’t understand how things could ever improve. I know it’s not about weight, but in my head the loudest thing is that I weigh too much. By Monday, I need to weigh 128.5lbs. That seems unfair and I know that once I’m out of program, I’m not going to be able to help trying to lose it. I look at some of the nurses, and I’m willing to bet even they don’t weigh that much. To be honest, it’s not about the weight, but I think that kind of goes without saying. But it’s easier to focus on the numbers which are legitimate, than to admit that at eighteen years old, I am losing my mind and essentially slowly attempting to kill myself. 

I swear, life seems way too unfair. 
 

(via speakingofthewhale)

Stuck.

I’m getting stuck, again. I lost nearly a kilo last week, meaning that I have to gain 1.2 kilos to make weight next Monday. I honestly don’t know if I can do it, or, I suppose, if I want to do it. I lied today to all of the staff, telling them that I had the best weekend yet and I have no idea how I lost so much weight. The guilt of not being honest ate at me all day, until in checkout I broke down and told the truth. I’m so lucky to be receiving such amazing treatment for basically zero cost, and I feel horrible lying to them. 

At the same time, I can’t deny that I’m not at least a little bit happy that my weight is down. I’m having a lot of trouble coming to terms with weight gain, and seeing the number drop that much made me feel slightly less hopeless. 

But nonetheless, I’m going to return tomorrow and give it my all. I ate my evening snack, plus a bowl of jelly beans. I’m going to follow my meal plan, and give it my all to make weight Monday. Regardless of whether it’s aritifical or not, I will make weight next week, but I’d rather it done honestly. 

I came home and tried to talk to my parents about it, and my mom made it all worse. She was shocked that at 125lbs they are still making me gain. She also told me that she weighs herself every morning, and when I suggested we get rid of the scale and we all focus less on our weight, she called me selfish. I don’t understand how I’m ever supposed to get past this obsession with numbers when even my own mother can’t bare to not know how much she weighs. It makes me so angry and frustrated, and I just want to scream and yell at her and slap some sense into her. I can’t do this on my own. My parents told me today that most people would love to be able to “guilt free eat enough to gain three pounds.” It actually makes me want to cry. They are the worst fucking support and I don’t know why I even bother with them. I can’t deal.

I cannot fucking deal with this. 

"Recovery takes a lot of time, effort, and planning; but staying sick takes your whole life."

(Source: n-e-r-v-o-s-a, via strengthtodance)

"People with eating disorders tend to be very diametrical thinkers-everything is the end of the world, everything rides on this one thing, and everyone tells you you’re very dramatic, very intense, and they see it as an affection, but it’s actually just how you think. It really seems to you that the sky will fall if you are not personally holding it up."

Wasted 

(Source: bulimiserable, via trapped-on-the-inside)

(Source: fvqs, via worry-awasteofimagination)

Recovery?

Sometimes, like right now, I get this painful tightness in my chest, and I suddenly feel unexplainably sad. It can come out of nowhere, or it can build up all day. But regardless of where it came from, it’s discouraging just the same. 

It’s the feeling that no matter what I do, no matter how hard I work, no matter how much I eat, I will never really recover. Sometimes I don’t want to recover. I think about how much better life will be with the eating disorder, when I’m thin and active. But then other times, I’ll think that no matter how much I want recovery, it’s just not possible. 

I’m going into my seventh week of treatment, and I don’t think I’m much better. I’ve gained weight, but I still have the same thoughts of restricting and purging and exercising. I’m eating jelly beans right now. A lot of jelly beans. Eating fear foods should be a good thing, except all I’ve eaten today was fruit and oatmeal, which I purged, more fruit, pickles, and these jelly beans. 

The battle in my head between me and Ed is so loud. I’ve had a constant physical headache for the past few weeks because of the force of tug of war. Sometimes I feel like I’m faking my way through treatment, and then as soon as I’m done, I’m going to go back to losing weight. Other times I feel like I can really do it, that if I don’t stop pulling, then I can beat Ed. 

(Source: dizzybirdy)

"You never come back, not all the way. Always there is an odd distance between you and the people you love and the people you meet, a barrier thin as the glass of a mirror, you never come all the way out of the mirror; you stand, for the rest of your life, with one foot in this world and no one in another, where everything is upside down and backward and sad."

Marya Hornbacher, Wasted: A Memoir of Anorexia and Bulimia

(Source: devil-queen, via losing-life)

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