Having something continue to simply exist in you is not akin to holding on. It is it existing and I, accepting.
I want to lie down and cry myself out. To cry till I despair and lose myself and am deadened again. To cry till I cut in an attempt to still the tears as I try to will myself back. To fail and despair all over again.
Why would I want that?
No… I don’t want that. I just want to cry. But crying entails all of that. And therefore I confuse myself, thinking that is what I want — to hurt myself. Hurt already exists in me. Pain. How did it become so much?
It is not something I crave and want, Mummy and Daddy. You are mistaken, it is what I try to block out and detach from. And that looks to you like a weapon against myself.
What if it is just a different reality from yours?
Last night was another fight and night of triggers. Not as intense as the last had been but enough to dig nails so that I bled. And so I would have sliced my skin when it ended for them because it does not end for me when it ends for them. To cry in surrender; to give up when in pain. To give up on what? On everything. And what is everything? I wonder. On people and people make up what is living. To sink yet deeper in my eating disorder as again it provides solace and comfort and protection against everyone who can hurt me. It does not matter who results in my silly state of useless blubbering tears because when it happens, a person is part of people and therefore people hurt and can hurt. If in my better periods, I keep up the detachment I have in the aftermath of such incidences and I slink away deep inside. Away and to my disorder which will again prove to be where I am safe. How depressing it was to have the same inconclusive fight happen again and again for over two years. How I wished to dangle my legs at the ledge again. If people can’t stop, I have to stop. I’d like to stop breathing to never go through it again.
This struggle with my weight is many things. A big part of it has been the want — wanting people to realise that no, I’m not strong. I need them to stop telling me that I’m strong enough.
I used to take a statement like that with neutrality since I never knew what to make of it. Was it a good or bad thing? It sounded like a thumbs up yet it felt like people felt they never needed to care. A statement like that now makes me sick. It makes me want to purge.
This struggle with my weight has been largely me wanting everyone else to stop telling me, eventually it’ll go away. It’s essentially assuming I can take what life throws at me all the time, even if I get a little lost for a while.
I wish everyone would stop telling me I’m a strong person. I don’t like it. It makes me cry inside. I wish away the assumption that I can just deal with what life keeps throwing at me all the time. I wish away the assumption that I can just deal with what people keep throwing at me.
I need someone else to step in; to shelter me too.
He fills the spaces in between and muffles the disorder like a blanket so I hear it less. He takes me places normal people go — places that I used to go. It comes naturally for me, to ask him to accompany me to the places that normal people go, doing things that they would do.
I’ve been peeing blood since this afternoon and it’s only getting to be more blood than pee. Actually no, it’s all blood now from my bathroom break just now. It’s been burning so badly since it started and now I’m nauseated. I wonder if it’s from the bubbly drink my Mum gave me for relief or if it’s just my body.
The shower head sprays down and soaks my hair and cleanses my body but not the dirt that runs through the fibres of my body. My calm detachment dissipates as I gather myself and I lose objectivity. I begin to think with feelings.
It’s taken you too.. Why does it have to take you too…
The colours of the sky changed rapidly, as if time from the prehistoric era was on fast forward so you could see yellows, purples, orange and reds. I walked down the route that took me home and the trees were darker than usual. It was so dark I could not see the park behind it — or did the park not exist here? The trees towered up higher than I recall. The street was quiet.
Unease. I walked quickly.
On the opposite path, I saw a familiar face. I knew the boy. He was from my primary school. I did not like primary school. I did not want him to see me. I walked even quicker.
I am in the elevator waiting for the door to shut. I am safe, I am safe, it’s safe. Is time hanging in my mind or is the door taking a moment too long to close? A black thing enters — a small cat. I notice the boney shoulders before I see it’s head. The left of it’s face was gone save it’s bloodied facial muscles and skull peeking through. The black shiny fur coat was matted with blood. It’s body was so thin I could see it’s bone structure. It stared so intensely I feared it would pounce.
I never found out. I was so scared I turned into a goldfish.