I had intended to put a warning on this blog, but I don’t think I shall after all. I shall just preface this by saying to those who don’t know I have been struggling with anorexia since I was 15 or 16 years old. I’m 29 at present, and it’s still a struggle. Some days are better than others. Some days are much, much worse…

Sometimes it’s all about the number—getting on that scale and seeing 115 and nothing more. Some days it’s all about the next bite—the sickening feel of the food in my mouth—the unnatural revolt of my stomach before I swallow.

Sometimes I want to hide like a fugitive. Sometimes I want you to make me take that next bite. Sometimes it’s all about control. But there are days…days when I wish someone, anyone, would make me take the next bite. But you don’t. You sit and look at me and wonder what to do. You wish I would just see reason. I feel you cry, I hear you, and still I don’t want to see what I’m doing. I don’t give a flying fuck if it hurts me.

I want to choke the people who say it’s all about the attention. Of course it’s about attention. You just don’t understand what attention I want, and I don’t know how to ask. I want to be better than you. I want to be stronger, faster, smarter, prettier, thinner…in every way. I want to be the best I can possibly be, and that involves being better than anyone else. If I can’t, I’ll die trying. And make you wonder why.

Then again, maybe it is just a phase…