ya feel?

it's alright to cry. it's good, even. allow yourself the release.

September is here. Meaning that you should to start fresh. So change those bed sheets. Switch out that old toothbrush. Get your hoodies and sweaters out. Prepare for a better you. With new goals. And a healthier mindset. I know it’s been hard lately, but use this opportunity to start fresh.

reminder that you’re not faking your mental illness because you had a good day. your illness is real and valid. having good days does not negate the existence of your mental illness. you aren’t faking it.

I literally hate this so much; you think eating disorders are fun, huh? you wish you had this? you think it’s a bunch of delicate girls in frilly pink skirts and knee-high socks daintily sipping green tea and turning down cookies? mirror selfies with a six-inch gap between your legs and collarbones that resemble the skeleton in your science teacher’s closet? you think you’ll be happy when you hit your gw, that this lifestyle is somehow maintainable and fun and cute and romantic? no! it’s being handed a twelve page packet of foods and realizing you can only eat about 20 of them without wanting to crawl out of your fucking skin. it’s puking into a cardboard box in your room at 1am because you binge ate an entire box of cookies in ten minutes and then crying on the floor because how could I have been so stupid? it’s spending half an hour meticulously removing the walnuts from a packet of oatmeal because you didn’t realize they were going to be in there and I’m not going to eat a walnut, goddammit. It’s staring at  half of a bagel and crying because you have to eat it and yet it’s so fucking terrifying. it’s obsessing for hours over what your next meal is going to be and having a panic attack when that meal is unavailable. it’s spending hours on restaurant websites trying to figure out how to get the lowest calorie menu item possible. it’s a living fucking hell and I wish I had never fallen down this nightmare of a disorder because now I’ve got to claw my way out and it doesn’t want to let me go. it may never fucking let me go. I might just have to learn to live down here as best I can, a life sentence of hell. fuck this, fuck pro ana, fuck thinspo, fuck society for making us think that this is desirable in any way, shape, or form, and if I sound pissed off it’s because I am because no one should ever look at a person struggling to stay alive and wish that would happen to them. if you haven’t fallen in yet, run. run like the devil himself is coming after you. run before it’s too late and you’ve wasted years of your life trying to make yourself disappear. run so that you’ll never have to claw yourself out. and if you’ve already fallen? well, then you best begin that climb. I’m on my way out, too.