We spoke for 55 minutes on the phone tonight. I hung up reluctantly, savoring the feeling of a grin breaking on my face, blissfully at peace with the wrinkles and dimples it provoked. For 55 minutes I felt alive, connection, the beginning. A beginning. Capable of overcoming the loneliness that sits beneath my ribs, its dull ache a reminder of its consistent companionship.
"It's so hard," she said matter of factly. Almost abruptly. "It's so hard to live differently from other people; to make the choice to live your life a little bit different.y. I'm proud of you. Look at the work that you've accomplished, the progress you've made."
"it's really fucking hard to be a human."
It's o.k. to have an eating disorder. So what? It's ok. It's a set of behaviors that you are making a choice not to engage in. You can be an alcoholic who chooses not to drink. You don't want to be an alcoholic, but you are, you just choose not to drink. You don't want to be an eating disorder, so you choose not to have one.
This is when your eating disorder resurfaces.
I've gained 10 pounds. I feel fat.
But it's just a feeling. You may feel that way, but that's important. that's different. No offense, but only a mental person would call you fat.
I'm going to bed tonight thinking about him. About the day I had. About how it doesn't matter. About how we are alive. Giddy.