Restless

We live in a world of contradictions.

I live/die in a world/hell of contradictions/ realities.

I'm reading Wasted right now -slowly, but surely - and it's really scary. I'm not in anyway, shape, or form like Marya H. in the sense of motivation or severity or ENDOS diagnosis.

Yet, I read her bio. I read her descriptions and her eloquent musings, and I experience deja vu so often it gives me whiplash.

I watched a documentary about teenage girls and eating disorders, sexuality and cutting. These girls speak so honestly about their needs on all these levels and how they've all experienced it. How much it hurts and how much they want it to hurt. I see myself in them; they voice sentences I have only dared to think.

I talk with a graduate about suicide (not related to me at all) and he just sighs and tells me it's harder to talk to someone than to do it. That is how shoving pills down your throat, or starving yourself, or dangling from a rope is the easy way out. I ask what depression is, then? He says it's limbo, indecision, and it's weakness too. I (dis)agreed.

So, what does that make me? Normal? Mild? Not depressed enough. A cut not deep enough. A girl not thin enough. Not angry enough. Is that it?

Sleep is my only escape... my only true relief from the alternating numbness and pain and guilt and anger. But even that is tainted somehow, yet only enough to bother me, not enough to worry about. I wake up exhausted - knowing that I hardly slept through the night as I tossed and turned, surrounded by semi-conscious fears and hate.

I almost collapsed at work because I hadn't eaten in a few hours.
I used to go 4 days without even liquid food.

What does that make me?