The feeling that there’s nothing worth fighting for and nothing left to lose; the fear that there is, and the despair that there isn’t, because it’s already gone. The longing for your life to have so much more meaning , so much more promise- but the inability to see beyond this; where everything is black and white, where everything is moving forwards, yet so backwards. So distorted, but never more clear.
The part of you that wants to have to fight this mentality, and the part that wants to fight it. The day’s where you plead for it to go and long for it to stay. The trying to convince yourself that your conscious thoughts are true, and the overpowering voice that tells you otherwise- the shouting in your silence. The solace in your pain.
The wanting to be shielded from the truth, but the needing it more than anything. The thought that people are exaggerating the severity to force you to recover, and the hope it really is as bad as they say... the hope it gets worse. The part of you that wants to be known for having an eating disorder- for all the wrong reasons that feel so right- and the part of you that doesn’t. Because you want to be ill, and you need someone to notice. But you need them not too, because everything you’ve built up will crumble. The wanting your unworthiness to be worth noticing, but the wanting to fade away. Feeling so strong in your weakness; feeling so in control in your lack of control.
The needing to hang on to what’s causing you to fall apart, but also keeping you together; and the needing to let go of it in order to genuinely hang on.
The feeling that you’re too much and not enough.
The wanting to keep doing this until the day your dead, but the knowing that if you did- you wouldn’t be able to do this anymore. And that hurts, because you want it and you need it here. But you need it gone.
