Itâs time we chatted. Iâm deep in this with you again. Finding food awful and like itâs bugs.
Silly ainât it? Bugs, on my plate, thatâs just a thing now. I try to cook and cover up the look of things so I donât have that problem. But you always seem to show back up.
Why do you come to haunt me? Why do you make me feel so bad for eating and feeling guilty that I want to eat? What have I done that makes food such a source of guilt?
To Ana, you really know how to get to me. You know what makes me tick and how to make food feel unsafe. You know just what to make me think
To Bulimia⌠you, oh how dare you. How dare you make me feel so sick all the fucking time. How dare you make me want to throw every single thing I eat up. How dare you exist at all? What did I do to deserve this torment? What did I do to cause such a hate and distaste for eating?
Why does cooking and feeding others bring me joy but making myself eat stress me out?
Food- the monster of it all. The thing I can no longer stand, the inherent evil that stays within.
Food- the prerequisite of survival. The absolute must to exist.
Food- my entire existence relies on its availability and existence. My entire life is revolves around it due to my lack of insulin production
Food- the thing I hate most.
I used to be in recovery⌠I managed for a while. Being able to happily eat and feelings of guilt are gone. I used to find joy in trying new foods⌠but youâve always come back to ruin it. Every time I feel like Iâm recovering from you; you come back with even more persuasion. I always think about you. How skinny would be better.. how the numbers on the scale going down would make me feel secure in myself. Those numbers on a scale.. they donât mean anything. But with you they mean everything. Seeing the weight go up⌠I dread, panic and feel like I donât deserve to take up space. When the numbers go downâŚ. Oh how much joy I receive. I feel like Iâm finally getting where I need to. I feel like Iâm healthy. You make me feel good when the numbers are smaller and smaller.
Oh ED, how youâve ruined me⌠how youâve ruined my perception and my feelings about food. How youâve destroyed my life in ways thatâll never recover. Oh, how youâll never go away⌠I used to dream of cutting parts of my stomach and chunkier parts off of me with scissors or blades so I wouldnât feel so ugly. I used to try that a lot too. The way I thought if I cut the fat off.. Iâd be pretty. The way I wouldnât get picked on because of my weight. But it doesnât work that way does it? Maybe if I was skinny, Iâd be happier. Maybe I wouldnât feel the gnawing urges of hunger. Maybe I wouldnât feel throwing up everything Iâve eaten is the way to help. Maybe I wouldnât feel so guilty about eating anything at all.
What if what if what ifâŚ.
Those thoughts remain deep within me. All because of you. The way you make me feel. The way you have caused me to be so afraid of food that I donât even want it anymore.
You haunt me.. and make me dread the question âwhat do you want to eat?â I should be able to answer that.. I should be able to tell somebody âI want (insert food) todayâ But I canât. Because food is unappetizing. Itâs unappealing. Itâs nasty. Everything tastes like metal now. I donât even have the taste for it anymore. I can feel and acknowledge what it is, and tell you how something is prepared⌠but it doesnât matter in the end. It tastes like metal and nothing. It doesnât have flavor. It doesnât have any warmth to it.. I can be told how good something is⌠and I canât even taste it because of you ruining me.
Youâve ruined me. And I hate you for it. But I know youâll never go away. I have to deal with you. Always there, lurking, waiting and destroying any effort Iâve made when it comes to trying to eat. I love you, and I hate you for what ive becomeâŚ
