I hope you don't mind my fashion blog also being a place for my personal thoughts, but writing is my therapy, and this is my safe place.
It's currently 11:30pm. I have my first outpatient appointment for my eating disorder tomorrow at 8:00am, and I'm fucking scared. I can't go to bed because once I fall asleep, it'll be morning, and it'll be here.
I can't explain the irrationality of my fear. I'm terrified of walking in and having people look at me like a science project. I'm afraid of being looked at with doubt, because I am not sick enough (NEVER skinny enough) to be here. I am afraid of watching my sickness and my anxiety and every loud, fucked up thought I have boiled down into a single diagnosis and a series of symptoms. I am afraid that no one will believe me.
And I'm fucking terrified of getting better. Someone once told me, "you're only skinny because you have an eating disorder" and I'm so fucking scared of that being true. I am scared of being defined by my eating disorder. My therapist told me that the worst of my eating disorder correlates with my past because my anxiety was coping with a hostile and abusive environment (something I felt helpless about), and misplacing that anxiety to monitor something that I did have control over: food. My eating disorder is rooted in my anxiety, and it's about control. I am afraid that getting better means losing control.
I don't want to go to my appointment. I do, but I don't. Mental disorders are the fucking worst; I don't need anyone else to argue with, I do just fine with myself. I know I need to get better. I know how unhealthy my disorder is, how fucked up my thought patterns are. I know how important it is that I get help. And yet my eating disorder is a voice that I have found comfort in. When I am scared, she helps me. When I am angry, and feeling out of control, she guides me. She's like a toxic friend: you care about her but you know she's no good for you. And I have learned to seek solace in her. I am so scared of losing her.
But she's a bitch. And I know that. She isolates me. These blog posts are my direct attack against her; she wants nothing more than for me to hide away and keep to myself, and speak to no one but her. She relishes in my comfort of her. She knows that my talking about her is dangerous; she knows that she's been telling me bad things, and that if I talk to someone else, they will tell me the truth. She knows that I am leaving her soon and she is fucking scared too.
I fucking hate her. I am so excited to no longer need her. I am so excited to take my power back, to take my control back.
Eating disorders are very isolating. They are very lonely. I need to get better. I need to get better.