Why can't I just...let it go?

This is the question, circulating in my mind today. Today, being just one of the many: the past few weeks, months, year, this is the question that i think this to myself, especially when things get hard and I find myself almost crying with self-hatred and frustration; when it feels like I am literally breaking up inside, the agony that stabs through my heart, so is the battle taking place inside my head.

Why can't I let it go? Why do I still hold onto ED? After all these years, all these years of suffering. After realising the truth...after becoming fully and completely aware of just how much ED has taken away from me. After feeling a hatred so palapable, so potent which I did not even think I was capable of educing: for this thing, this monster, this demon which still sits upon my shoulder evey single day, dictating to me what I should and should not do, what I should eat and not eat, even what I should say, how I should act, what i should think.

Me: I think my legs do look a bit better, now that I have gained weight. 

ED. No. You are wrong. They looked so much better this time last year, when you were skinnier. 

Me. I suppose...you are right. I think they looked better then, too... 

This was the conversation in my head, as I stared at myself in the long mirror in my room yesterday evening.

I just wish with all my heart, that I could just..let it go, for once and for all.

It is just so frustrating for me, as I am fully aware of the reason why I still cling to ED. Once, there was a time when ED performed for me, many functions. It had almost become a vile friend of sorts, in a way. It had a purpose and a role in my life and it made that very clear to me. ED kept me at the low weight at which I desired back then to be, ensuring that i remained skinny and underweight and thus keeping my ultimate fear of ever becoming overweight or obese a distant possibility. And there were other functions, too. It kept me immature, dependent on others to look out for me: as in my own little world I had come to feel so isolated, it was as if by turning to eating disorder behaviours I could draw attention to myself and allow myself to be noticed, for others to know I was there. ED became my stress-reliever and anxiety-soother: when the world seemed to turn against me and I could feel myself cracking, I reassured myself by turning to restriction and overexercising, drawing comfort out of the fact that no matter what happened, noone can look at me and see a chubby overweight girl. I hated every single thing about myself, I felt useless at absolutely everything. But I had ED, and ED promised it would keep me safe.

And here I am now, and to look back on those days fills me with pain, sadness and regret, and further augments my sense of self-hatred. How could I be so stupid...?

And the thing is, of course, is that now, things have changed, and I want recovery, I no longer want to be the immature, dependent, stick-thin girl who cannot function for herself and constantly needs others to look out for her and care for her. i no longer need ED behaviours to comfort me, to give me a sense of achievement or reassurance. I no longer want my identity to be defined by an ED.

But this one thing remains with me, my greatest ever nemesis, the vice which, if I dont learn to control and overpower it, could well be my downfall. The desire to be skinny. That is still there, that has not changed. And I know - I know, with every single fibre of my being - that I CANNOT give in to it. For if I do, I know all too well that the consequences could ultimately be devastating.

I just don't... understand.

this is what gets me down the most, which makes me want to kick myself, scream at myself until my throat is hoarse and angry tears are running unchecked down my face. I do not understand WHY I want to be skinny. Because I think skinny is pretty? No, that is not it. I do not think skinny is pretty, attractive, sexy, or beautiful. And neither did I ever like my body or shape when I was at my skinniest, despite everything ED made me do and think to make it that way. I used to look into the mirror and feel the visible bones, and feel repulsed, disgusted, full of loathing. Then why? WHY do I want to be a bag of bones??? Sometimes it feels like I am going crazy; more often than that, I actually believe that I am. I just want to let it go. I hate ED with all my heart. I just know that I have to fight, fight this thing with every single breath, every beat of my heart.

Day 12: What are 3 things you would like to change about yourself...

I wish that I could learn to place less iimportance of my weight, shape, and appearance, and that I could be strong enough to fully let my eating disorder go.

this is something in particular, which I would love to change about myself.

I often ask myself...Why am I so focused on the way I look? Who am I out to impress, after all? But after further contemplation, I don't really think that is what is relevant here. Its not a matter of impressing anyone, making myself look attractive. When I was at my skinniest, I could never, ever look in the mirror and smile and think I looked beautiful. Not even when I reached the size, the weight that I had aimed for.

It's nothing to do with that. I think, for me, being skinny was my identity and my security. I thought: no, I was, am and never will be beautiful. But at least they can say I am not overweight. The thought of being overweight terrified me, as did the thought of failing my exams, losing everyone that I had ever loved, and being on my own. And this fear then spiraled into an obsession with being skinny which, in turn, allowed my eating disorder to develop.

Why was I so, so bent on being like this...forever? Why did I sacrifice everything, for the sake of just being skinny? 


There are days when I literally want to just reach out and shake myself, if this was realistically possible. Shake myself hard and cry out that unspoken question.

Why, why, why, Emmy, do you place so much importance and emphasis on the way you look? On how much you weigh? On what dress size you are? Why? Why does it matter? Is life not short enough? didn't you once tel yourself...that life was too short, to be not be happy? 

I wish I was able to concentrate better.

This is something that I lost through my eating disorder, and which I dearly wish I could regain. There was a time when I was the girl who could study well for an exam or a test without killing herself with the effort of doing so; who could spend hours sitting with her typewriter in the conservatory;engrossed in yet another piece of narrative writing of her own creation; who could learn languages while on the go and sit curled up with a good book long into thelate hours of the night. But this all changed when my eating disorder became stronger, and, suddenly and horribly, I discovered that it was extremely hard for me to focus at all.

I wish that I could embrace the real me, the happy, bubbly, carefree girl who I once was, and lost.

It's true, I remember what the real me used to be like. The girl who was always smiling, who loved wearing pretty dresses and making herself look pretty, the girl whose energy and enthusiasm knew no bounds whatsoever; the girl who was passionate about the things she loved and who loved to dance and write and meet new people. She was confident, talkative, outgoing and sociable. But now, I feel as if I am a shadow of that girl who I once was. Now, that girl who was once me, has now become shy, insecure, nervous and self-loathing. More often than not, I find myself feeling down, depressed, exhausted and hopeless. All because of Ed, and what Ed took away from me. :'(

And though I know, I will never be able to completely be like that girl I once was...I wish I could, be a bit like her. I hope, with all my heart, that one day, she will come back, back to me.

Before I became sick, all those years ago, everything was so, so different...before everything changed,; before I changed...