Monologue #9 (2015)

I’ve gotten really good at hiding it even though I talked last year about talking about it.  I stuck my fingers down my throat today, but I can’t even puke right.  I guess you could say I’m not better.

I guess it helps when you don’t look sick anymore.

I guess it helps when everyone’s too busy to notice, too afraid to broach the subject.

I guess it helps when most of the girls around me can look at me and say “I’m glad I’m not out of control, I’m glad I don’t have to look like that.”

You should be glad.  You should embrace the ease of the place your brain is in now.  You should love that place, because wherever the fuck I am.  Well.  It hurts more than starving ever did.

I don’t feel comfortable in my body.  That hurts.  It means that everything that touches me, everything that makes me feel my body, every piece of it that I touch, every article of clothing—it puts me on the edge.  Not on edge.  But on the edge.  Because when you don’t feel comfortable in a situation, or even worse, when that situation makes you actively upset you remove yourself from it.

I guess they call that suicide.

Did you know that no one at Davidson has ever committed suicide (what a beautiful word)?  Did you also know that there’s almost no openings in the counseling center?  I don’t know what that means, but it means something right?

I don’t want to frighten anyone.  I’m not going anywhere no matter how much I want to.  There is still a small and timid whisper in the throes of my loathing and anger that reminds me there is no freedom from my body.  Body and me are one.

I think maybe if I could numb myself to the sensations of my body, I might feel better.  I could ignore what it was making me feel and just be in it.

I guess they call that recovery.  Normalcy?

Only it shouldn’t be normal for people to just be inured to their bodies, we should feel lovely in them.  I say I want to be skinny, but that’s the coward’s way out.  I could do it, if I really tried again, but the tethers holding me back are stronger now. When I say I want to be skinny,  what I mean is I want to feel lovely.

I guess I just want to feel comfortable.  Again.  And the only way I know how to do that is to be skinny, but the only way I know how to do that makes me sick and trying to do some of what I used to makes me overcompensate in other ways and…

It’s a constant conversation, but one that has to happen just within me and myself so often.  No one else knows what to say, how to say it, or even that it’s happening.  It’s a constant battle.  And I’m exhausted.

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