Slipping Conflicted

I am falling, drifting, sinking into a subterranean black hole. I am slipping, feeling, shaking as the sharp pain rips its strident claws through my body. My head is hurting and I feel purplish veins pulsing in my lower abdomen. I feel alone, but I know that am not. As my body aches with its treachery of consumption of itself from the inside out, the Voice beckons me to listen:

“Worthy will not come without some pain.”

My organs are fighting back. My bones are trying to escape. In every aspect possible, my body is betraying me. It is twisting, heaving, morphing those 200 milligrams of sertraline into a poisonous chemical, guaranteeing that I experience every consequence known to man. I cannot help but acknowledge that I deserve this. My body is not betraying me at this hour, ‘for it is I who betrayed it.

“We may burn from all the pills, but we sure killed all the pain.”

Tuesday evening was an amazing experience that arrived at just the right time. Walking in to the outpatient clinic, it was blatantly clear that it was one of those really awful days. The vital signs and weight were what I expected—down—and individual therapy left me just as angry and hopeless as ever. It was during group therapy, however, that I had a miniature break-through. For the first time in a long time, after some rather deep soul-searching, I finally caught the slightest glimpse of some hope. Hope for a future. Hope that there is life after an eating disorder. Hope of recovery. I left the clinic that day not feeling okay, not being good or happy, but feeling as if maybe, just maybe, I could actually one day beat this monster. I was strong enough to fight. But, you see, I cannot help but to declare that I must obviously be stupid. I must be the most incompetent individual on this planet because I have allowed myself to do exactly what I do every single bloody time—I have lost it. Just as shockingly as it was presented to me, it is gone. In the depths of my physical state and some not-so-helpful conversations, apathy thrust itself from behind its iron veil and satiated my vulnerability.

“Face it; you do not know how to live without me.”

150 plus 62 minus 500—too many calories; whole wheat flour, water, wheat starch—denied; ninety-eight on my AP Statistics test—I cannot believe I missed two whole questions. The Voice is directing me. I am counting calories instead of sheep. I am reading ingredient labels instead of textbooks. I am failing in every success.

“Nine years, nine years, what’s one more to make a difference?”

I am dithering, I am torn, I am conflicted. I am hearing too many thoughts at once, unable to stop and focus on which side they represent. I am too weak at this moment. At this moment I want to give up, I want to end these thoughts and this pathetic life that I lead. But I will not. I will not let this devourer take me all the way. I may flirt with the edge, I may drift between the border and the ever-widening dark, but I will not let it take me all the way. There are times, such as this, when I am completely consumed darkness, unable to see a brink of light or the thin line which lies between. I am not completely lost, though. My heart is still beating and my breaths are still coming. Until the moment that my body relents to let nature take its course or an attempt on my behalf succeeds, I am and always will be still fighting.

Some days however, very much like today, both my mind and body beg to end the fight, pleading with me in their sheer agony.

And then I slip….

~ by candyshele1204 on April 1, 2012.