My Past 3 Months
I hate it. Not you, but that pure fact that i can’t be with you. The fact that you care about me. That you honestly and truthfully care about me for a reason that I dont know if i’ll ever understand. When I look at you, talk to you, think about you, I feel safe. It’s the only time I feel safe. The only time I smile is when i’m with you. You don’t understand how difficult it can be for me to smile. You may not like the things I believe, say, or do; But for some reason you’re still here, telling me that every time I hurt myself, I hurt you. That I don’t have to be what my past has been. You know more about me than most people i’ve known my whole life know. Sometimes you know more about me than I know about myself. But something I can’t take even more, is just being friends, because neither of us knows how to be anything else. But there is still no way of describing how much I care, and will always care, about you. </3 I trust you with my life.
It is an attempt to find an identity, but ultimately it strips you of any sense of yourself, save the sorry identity of “sick”. It is a grotesque mockery of cultural standards of beauty that ends up mocking no one more than you. It is a protest against cultural stereotypes of women that in the end makes you seem the weakest, the most needy and neurotic of all women. It is the thing you believe is keeping you safe, alive, contained - and in the end, of course, you find it is doing quite the opposite. These contradictions begin to split a person in two. Body and mind fall apart from each other, and it is in this fissure that an eating disorder may flourish, in the silence that surrounds this confusion that an eating disorder may fester and thrive.
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