"It’s like a plague inside your head, it tears you apart from the inside out and no-one knows about it. No-one can hear the torment, no-one can witness your thoughts as they come into your head, no-one can feel the hatred you feel for yourself when these thoughts are sprung into your head like boomerangs, only, they don’t return to where they came from. They stay there, linger, like a bad odour that can’t be eliminated no matter how many times you try and ‘wash it away’.
You can change a thought, but you can’t change that it came into your head. You can’t change the faint memory of it being there, the impact it had on you, another tiny crack. Chip chip chipping away at the tiny bit of self-esteem and confidence you had left. You want desperately for people to understand, to see how much these thoughts are torturing you. So you try and show them: you starve yourself or you binge and purge. You feel emptiness is better than the thoughts after you’ve eaten. The thoughts change then. ‘Good girl’ it whispers. ‘You’ve done well, carry on, you’re heading in the right direction’. And then sometimes, the thoughts get too much to handle and you fight them off; you stuff your body full of food to try and shut the voices up. They scream at you with every mouthful you take. ‘NO. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! STOP’ but you carry on. Desperate to shut the screaming up. In between shoving it in your starving body your cheeks are soaked with tears. You don’t want to do this but you don’t know what else to do either. Then it hits you. What have you done? You’ve given in to your natural reaction. You’ve betrayed the voice. You panic, the voice starts again. Torturing you. ‘You fat cow, look at you, you’re disgusting. Get rid of it, do it. Now.’ Run to the toilet, bend over, do the deed, up it comes. Stand up, wash your face, walk out like nothing happened. No no no, sometimes that doesn’t even happen, does it? Sure, you’ve done it a few times but you’re a chicken aren’t you. You can’t make yourself. You physically can’t do it. You start having a panic attack before anything even comes up. You’re a failure. You know you are, it tells you so. Stare in the mirror. Cry. It’s all you can do. Look at the damage you’ve done. Look at you. It tells you how vile you are and now you can see it for yourself. Everyone else can see it too. You’re not sick, you’re fat. You’re not Anorexic, you’re a liar. You’re obese. Ugly. It’s beating you. It’s winning. You’re letting it. You’re letting them all down. You care. But you don’t. But you do. But you don’t. You can’t. You’ve lost the will to live let alone care. You want to escape but not looking like this. You want to lose weight but you don’t know how to. People tell you you look sick but you don’t believe them. You’re fatter than last time and it wasn’t good enough then. You give up but you don’t. You’re so stuck in this you can’t see a way out. You lie to everyone, you know you do. ‘I want to be normal, I want to get better’. You don’t. But you do. But you can’t. And you won’t.