It’s a bit early, bc the actual week is at the end of the month. Maybe I’ll have something to say that’s completely different than this rant by that time. But for now, while I feeling like typing this mess, here we go…For the last few years (twelve, I guess? seriously?), eating disorders awareness week has been a time for me to think about a part of my life marked by, well, an eating disorder. I think about the suffering. The physical pain of my stomach eating itself as I passed well beyond the point of hunger. The emotional pain from pressuring myself to do better at starving, do better academically, both of which I thought would lighten the inexplicable weight crushing me entirely. I think about the internal conflict, a level of which I cannot even begin to describe. All of me at war with myself, constantly questioning every thought but powerless to find an answer or come to a compromise. The resulting guilt, self-hate. But this year it’s kind of different. I haven’t just started to think about this again now; I’ve been thinking about it since mid-October. Thinking about it hard. If you’ve just read between the lines, you realize I’m saying that I’ve been having issues. Again. Twelve years later. As a fucking adult. Like, this shit is a problemmm. I spent years with the attitude “I couldn’t get to that level of disordered again if I tried.” Well guess what, idiot, apparently you can. Do you hear the shame laced through these words? Because I’m over here thinking how much it sucks that I can’t write some attempt at an inspirational “recovery is awesome” post. I’m thinking how much it sucks that I can’t take twelve years worth of insight and fucking use it. But I’m not here to bitch and moan or have a pity party (I’ve done that enough and had plenty of those). I’m here to do what I fucking DO, and figure out a way to wrap this bullshit up in a nice bow. Make sense of the chaos. Find meaning in the anguish. Sweep up the shards of broken mirror, dump them in the pile of shards from twelve years ago, and find another goddamn mirror. Because that’s what I fucking do. No matter how many times I have my sanity ripped violently out of my skull (and my bipolar disorder ensures that that happens quite a lot, like in this current moment, actually, as I summon the immeasurable amount energy it requires to put words onto a page right now), I stand back up, drag my battered self over to my laptop, and create some semblance of purpose out of the darkness. I really don’t have a great conclusion to this rambling mess of words. I wish I did. But my point here, I guess, is that anorexia doesn’t have to be the conclusion, for anyone. I’m obviously going to find a better one, and anyone else who’s struggling is welcome to join me. And for those of you that don’t struggle with this fucking nonsense, remember to be kind to the ones that do. This isn’t a choice, it isn’t a diet, blah blah blah with the platitudes every eating disordered person says constantly when attempting to explain to the people judging them or whatever. And one final thing, for the endless support from the amazing people I have in my life, thank you. Like. So much. I remember every single one of you who saved me back in the day, and I’m so fucking lucky to have you all doing the same again now. So yeah. Eating disorders awareness week.