07 November 2010

Remember Her?

I don't know if any of you recall, but when I first posted of my ED, I referred to it as "she." This was a response to the fact that it often feels like you are being told by your ED what you can and cannot do. I felt controlled by "her," unable to fight the things the voice said to me. I had a inner dialogue that seemed like two beings that could not possibly be the same. What's the truth?

We are the same.

This voice, this force, this disease, whatever you want to call it is me. I am the one who tells myself I am inadequate. I am the one who says that is too much on my plate. I am the one who says bones are good, curves are bad.

Today I was looking at old pictures of myself and I realized something that I have realized 100 times before, but somehow always forget:
When I am at a healthy weight, I look better.

I'm not saying I magically become Adriana Lima. I'm saying that when I am not at my healthy weight, I look sick. My skin looks dull, I break out more, My face is more hollow, I don't glow.

I know this. This has always been a fact. Then why do I keep telling myself I must loose?

I have no answer. But it's a good question.
Right now, I'm in the middle. I'm not on either end of severity that I have been before.
Lately I've been stressing over my weight, thinking I'm gaining but...well, it's sort of funny. I'll explain: I went so long without a period that I never got used to the usual gain/loss of water retention. Every few weeks I start to freak out, wondering why, how I am gaining weight. Then I look at a calendar and realize....oh....it's that week, huh? Told you it was funny.

Well, I say that but it isn't really. Not when I won't eat because I feel the fat multiplying and the thought of adding one more horrid calorie makes me actually cry. Not when the hunger headache prevents me from enjoying my night and I feel sick to my stomach which just becomes one more excuse not to eat. I ate some oatmeal when it got to 24 hours without food....(I actually ate plain oatmeal, not this bowl of oats....)
Otherwise it's this...
or this...
and lots of this....

**Note: while writing this, my iTunes has played "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" twice. Someone knows too much for a machine....
I had a very difficult time last night. I could not understand why these thoughts were back, and I hated that I felt that it was a good thing that they controlled me. I misspoke. There is no they. I control myself. I am in control and if I want to nurture my body, damnit I will. I am stronger than this.
When these things happen, I tend to need....my fix. I'm getting the itch for ink, so expect to see something new soon.

I'll leave you with some lyrics that put my current thoughts into words:
"12 needle injection,
Stroked on skin with affection

The buzz of her diced tattoo machine

Makes me wanna cry for more

In for another kick, my skin gets its fix

My body takes a new form, I'm getting reborn

Yeah, I need my ink injection

Baby lou tattoo!

Full thrust on the machine, pins on to my skin

I'm getting my soul reapplied

While my skin is getting dyed"
Horrorpops, Baby Lou Tattoo

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