balancingstatesofmind:

Why is it so hard to let go of something that I don’t want to hold onto?

3349) I don’t want food to control my life anymore. I’m so tired.

(Source: eatingdisorderconfession)

Please stop calling my disordered behaviours self-discipline. Please stop telling me I’ll feel better if I exercise—I will, but not for the reasons you think. Please stop saying you’re jealous that I’ve lost weight “naturally”—I haven’t and it makes me think I ought to stay this unnaturally thin. Please stop asking why I’ll eat butter but not drink anything but skim milk—the butter never stays down.

Just please stop. You sound like my eating disorder.

→ Heal Physically After A Purge

therecoveryrun:

Those who have purged know how physically traumatizing it can be. Your throat is raw, you’re bloated, your sinuses are clogged, and much more. I hope to be able to give you some relief.

Raw throat: Heal your throat with a mixture of honey and peanut butter, and a glass of…

The thing about considering recovery is that I know the truth.

I can’t just stop having an eating disorder. I need to actively pursue recovery and a new lifestyle. If I could just stop all my behaviours, that would be great. If I could just gain to my set point right now, I’d be fine. But if I decide to recover, I will have to fight the thoughts and behaviours every minute of every day, just like I like I live them every minute of every day right now. Eating and food can’t just be cut out of my life. And I will have to gain weight every day, a little (or a lot) at a time, but not all at once.

I want to stop. All at once. Just be better. But it doesn’t work that way, and it is too much for me right now, because I have so many other things to be focusing on. I don’t think I’ll be able to take classes and recover. At least not at first.

Sigh.

" The hardest thing about depression is that it is addictive. It begins to feel uncomfortable not to be depressed. You feel guilty for feeling happy. "

pararoses:

Does anyone else feel really guilty when they start talking about their own feelings and then immediately regret saying anything because you just feel so annoying and pathetic and ugh

(via thnxfrthmmrs98)

"

i found myself in a cycle: i would drop hints that my teeth had become tombstones, i would dance around the subject of why i never smiled full-out, i would make a fool of myself trying to distract others from how sick and twisted it felt to still be living. when the pressure of needing to tell someone finally rose to a height, it would all slosh over in messy messages that sang of bloodshed and desperation, thick leather-tasting sonnets about how close to death i was walking.

sometimes the person i vented to was understanding, sometimes they mishandled it completely. it didn’t matter in either case. the ones who were kind to me made a guilty selfhatred creep up through my throat and within minutes i’d be changing the subject off of my darkness and switching it so we would talk about their problems. those who responded poorly just furthered this internal idea that i was a psychopathic maniac. somehow i’d always end up with this sense of almost anticlimax, as if i’d had wanted some magical response that would have cured me - but no matter how clever or cute or caring their words were, i never felt completely satisfied. you can’t feel satisfied when you’re in a place like that.

eventually when the call was over or the last text was sent or however our conversation came to an end - eventually i’d find myself alone again and in those moments i would stare into space thinking how embarrassed i was of my own piteous behavior and by the time i fell asleep i would bite my tongue and swear that i would never speak of my problems to a living soul ever again, that it was bad enough that just by existing i was a terrible burden.

and then would come the dark days, when the inky slickness in my throat did not recede and i understood loneliness in acute form. there were so many people i loved and not a single of them would understand how to pry me open and let me breathe again. i was stuck inhaling desperately around a blockage so thick that it made me consider jumping into traffic. i would be sitting in class or at work or at the movies, quietly suffocating under this sticky-sweet idea that if i just swallowed a few pills, i could go somewhere quieter. i’d go home, find a razor or skip a meal or do both, i’d go to sleep, i’d wake up and i still would not be happy.

i used to stay in the tub after my showers were done, just watching the water as it danced down the drain. it was soothing to me in a familiar way. i felt the same, dirtied and lifeless and tumbling into darkness, standing in the shadows of the people i used to know, feeling nothing but intrinsically, terribly

hollow.

"

buttonpoetry:

Patrick Roche - “Couples Therapy” (NPS 2014)

"Every thursday, I go to couples therapy with my depression. He whispers in my ear to stay in bed for another day, presses his palm into my chest, afraid I’m going to escape the covers."

Performing during the Button Showcase at the 2014 National Poetry Slam.

wow. a striking look at depression.

(via firesfade)

" if your demons
were wildfires
i would burn my hands
to conquer them. "