The voice is constantly berating my choices. My voice. I let it. I am on the outside looking in at the frenzy but I cannot stop it. I am helplessly aware. The voice is quiet and painless. It is intelligent and creeps in so slowly but so suddenly, creating enough chaos to be ignored. There are more important things to tend to.
I am blindly listening.
I think I am too old for this. Too old for what? I am participating in normal adult behavior. I am eating healthy foods. I am watching my weight by stepping on the cold unforgiving scale, making sure to strip myself of every bobby pin and every piece of self esteem. I am volunteering to eat like a vegan for a friend’s graduate research paper despite knowing it will be triggering. I want to be excused from thanksgiving. And evenings out. And lunch dates.
I let the voice occupy a place in my mind. I let it exist. I become a failure for every fat gram. I will run miles and miles and miles.
115. Deadlines and goals. Deadlines extended for failures and goals increased for deadlines met.