I hate having an eating disorder. I hate the secrecy. I hate feeling out of control around food. I hate the fear of being caught purging. I hate the feeling after purging. I hate binging. I hate the urge to binge. I hate exercising when I’m tired. I hate the acid reflux. I hate my bowel problems. I hate the looks and the suspicion. I hate the feeling of certain numbers on the scale. I hate the continuous thoughts of calories. I hate the comparing I do with other people’s bodies and eating habits. I hate the fear about not being able to have children. I hate the damage I have to done to my body that has not yet shown itself. I hate depression. I hate being tearful. I hate my self harm scars. I hate the feeling of fat on my body. I hate my rolls of flab. I hate the bloodshot eyes. I hate the feeling of realising there is vomit on your shoes. I hate that the only time I feel good about myself is when I restrict. I hate the lying. I hate putting my eating disorder ahead of all of the wonderful people and parts of my life.
If all is this is true then why do I keep going with it? Why do I not put every ounce of my being into getting rid of it and staying rid of it? Why is that feeling of losing weight worth all the above horrors? Why is the fear of gaining weight worse than the fear of dying? How can I see so clearly that my eating disorder is trying to destroy my life and yet not use any of the knowledge and techniques I have to fight it? How can I sit here and write all of this knowing I am about to go purge my dinner?
I wish I knew. I really wish I could figure this one out.