at times, my blog contains heavy subject matter. be careful.
good morning. i've only gotten around four hours of sleep, but i feel much better than i did when i woke up yesterday. i'm in a good mood. i like being up early.
it's been a long time now since i promised recovery. i think it's gotten to a point where everyone knows i've just given up. i have a terrible habit of running my mouth; i can't keep secrets. it's too obvious when i'm counting and restricting and purging and seeking out content online that fuels it more. i feel more guilty trying to conceal it than i would if i was just transparent about it like i have been in the past. i don't really want to be open about it, though. i don't want to worry anyone. i don't want to admit i've failed—that i've given up, gotten selfish, allowed everything to worsen and worsen. i've chosen anorexia. i should feel guilty.
a consequence of allowing myself to indulge like this has been the sudden increase in thoughts of comparison. i've made a lot of promises. i've insisted that i wouldn't start involving anyone else in this. i wouldn't compare myself to others. i've been doing a lot of that recently. i know i am a bad person for feeling such a sense of satisfaction when my personal sets of statistics are smaller or bigger then others'. i know i'm wrong for being competetive. i shouldn't be letting myself think like that.
there is no one preventing me from getting better aside from myself, but it's much easier to blame the people who've hurt me. you shouldn't have talked about your numbers and how much better than mine they were, because now i've relapsed, and it's all your fault. it's juvenile. i'm doing the same thing. reactive competition isn't any better than what they did.
i am overwhelmed by a need to feel superior to them. my numbers are more impressive. i'm losing weight faster. i get more steps. i eat less. i count more. i'm in control. i don't binge. i'm worse, i'm more disordered, and i'm still happier. i have more friends. i'm not miserable. i'm not discontent with my life. i'm in college. i have a car. i'm just so much more successful.
this thought process is embarassing and shameful. there is absolutely nothing that makes me better than them. i am not in control. i am addicted to making myself suffer. i am jealous and obsessive and driven by compulsion. they don't deserve to be thought about in this way, as much as i dislike them. there's absolutely nothing justifiable about my behavior.
i keep trying to position myself above other people with eating disorders. not in the sense that i think they're lesser in their suffering but in the sense that some of them have sacrificed their morals and dignity in a way i haven't. some of them are rotten souls who waste their time peddling judgement no one asked for, insulting others who don't meet the irrational standards they apply to themselves, and presenting themselves as angels who waste away for the sake of ethereal beauty. it would be so much easier to allow myself to aestheticize my pain. it'd be easier to convince myself that this is desirable rather than pitiful. i just won't do it. i don't think that really makes a difference between them and i.
i wish i hadn't given up.
consciousness is a funny thing, don't you think? a particular combination of chemicals and electrical signals manages to trick itself into knowing it exists, and there you are—aware by sheer coincidence, just because some organic tissues got lucky. it's wholly internal, and yet we know that others exist, too, because we can translate bits and pieces of ourselves into external words and actions that others can glean some understanding from. the actual percentage of yourself which can be seen from the outside is incomprehensibly tiny; no one can ever know another like they know themself. ever! it's almost tragic.
when you die, you're lost forever. the only evidence that you ever existed—not in the corporeal sense—is the imperfect, incomplete impressions held by others, and one day they will be gone too, and eventually, it'll be like you were never there at all. and the universe will feel utterly nothing about it.
i woke up suicidal, but i've already existed and thus been made aware of the possibility of nonexistence, and i've come to learn that this presents a certain dilemma. one day i'll be nothing, and there won't even be a me there to know that. that's scary. i don't really want to die.
at around four or five o'clock in the morning i was struck by a sudden awareness—a re-awareness, rather, because this is not the first time i've come to know this for certain. the titular realization is as follows: this is it. my explanation of this understanding can be condensed into a few bullet points for brevity's sake.
i sat in the bathtub feeling numb to this renewed knowledge until i realized i was out of hot water, and it was therefore too cold to stay put. i think i forgot to wash my hair.