It's Been Awhile

Life is shitty sometimes. It really is. Trying to make my way past this thing that has control over my life is just shitty. It sucks. It hurts. It makes me uncomfortable. It makes it hard to have relationships with people because they can't understand what you're going through. I've pushed everyone away so that I can be alone in my own discomfort. I'm so tired of this stupid fight. I'm so tired of such a daily task being such a struggle. Every bite that I eat worries me to death. I'm either eating too much or too little. If I'm eating too little then I want too much. It's a fucking circus. But I don't have a choice.

For the past few weeks I've really stopped fighting the fight. I've stopped making any progress. I just eat. My binges are much less severe and masochistic than they were, but no less present. I have to stop. The fact is that I am beating myself bloody. I am hurting myself. And I can't stop. Why can't I stop? I have to find a way. I have lost so much of my life to this already...I've lost so many of the relationships that I care about. I've lost almost everything, truth be told. I look around me and all I see are the possessions that my parents paid for. I have one or two people who I allow to pop in to my life once every blue moon. Other than that I have nothing. I have nothing. I am a bitter, miserable old crone who locks herself away in an expensive apartment with expensive things in the hopes that it will lead to the life that I want.

Everything has lost it's value. I am nothing. I have nothing. And all of this stems from just one idea. Fat people can't be happy. I live under the shadow of that idea every hour of every day. When I am skinny I exhaust myself and shun others in the pursuit of maintaining my weight so that I am allowed to be happy. This takes so much effort that I usually don't end up with the time to enjoy my "earned" happiness.

When I am fat I can't be happy, and I take every step to ensure that this idea becomes a reality. I eat in a frenzied way to ensure that I stay fat because I know that will make me more miserable than anything that I could do.

Always, fat people can't be happy. And even if they could be happy, it's not a happiness that is worth anything. Only thin people can be truly satisfied in all ways. There must be a puzzle piece that I haven't found. There must be something that can break me out of such a cyclical mindset. I want to remember what it feels like to enjoy something that has nothing to do with food. Because honestly, I don't. I don't enjoy just watching a movie because it doesn't involve food. I don't enjoy anything that isn't food. I don't see the point in anything that isn't food. And if I'm not eating, I'm just biding my time until I can eat again. I'm thinking about it. I'm thinking about when it will be an acceptable time to eat. How much I will eat when it is finally acceptable to do so. I lied before, I am not nothing. I am food. That's all. My life, emotions, and relationships all depend upon it.

How did this happen? When did it cease to matter that I am a unique person? Because it doesn't anymore. I don't remember what I like to do. I just don't know. I've tried thinking about it.

I want to paint the walls of my apartment. I want to dye my hair blue. In truth, I am a strange little child. And that is one thing that I take so much joy in being. Or I did. All forms of expression used to interest me. But not anymore. I wear the same clothes as everyone else and I talk in the same way as everyone else and I discuss the same things that everyone discusses. I am a non-person. I miss my individuality. But individuality loses it's importance underneath the shadow of my stupid little idea. Everything loses importance under that idea. Fat people can't be happy. Fat people can't be happy. Fat people can't be happy. And I am fat. And because I believe this, I make myself unhappy. I torture myself. I hurt myself. I disrespect myself. But I'm so lost now that I'm not sure if I remember how to treat myself in any other way. Or if any other way exists.

And sometimes I have a breakthrough. Maybe I can be happy as a fat person. So I live in my own little bubble and I am as happy as it's possible to be in such an isolated environment, but I refuse to be around other people. I take the coward's way. I hide from the expectations and the opinions of others and I live like a hermit. That's not what a brave girl would do. If I want to be brave I'll have to go out and live amongst the people. Open myself up to the damage that they can cause with their looks. That's what a brave girl would do. I hide in the darkness and hoard the idea that fat people can be happy, but I'm too scared to live out in the world with the idea. It reminds me of Christianity. How they were persecuted by the Romans...and some Christians were afraid of judgement and so they stayed underground and never did anything worth while. They never touched anyone. And then there were the ones that were brave and lived the way they thought was right...right out in the open, in front of everyone. I need to stop hiding. Being brave is such a hard thing. Being honest is such a hard thing when it's so easy to lie. Facing the people outside of my door is so much harder than never leaving my apartment. Anything worth anything will always be hard. Everything is hard. Everything hurts. And I don't want to.