I guess I thought that once I figured out why, I wouldn’t have any reason to have an eating disorder anymore. As it turns out, that is not at all the case. I keep forgetting–or resisting–that an eating disorder is a mental health issue and I have to treat it like that and not a phase or diet. Treating it like “fixing” an unhealthy diet is about as useful for me as punching a wall. Pretty much pointless.
I want to get back in bed every time I catch a glimpse of myself in the full length mirror. The other day that’s actually exactly what I did.
It seems impossible that I could ever trust my body. It seems impossible that I could ever trust any body.
Love yourself, love yourself, love yourself.
If I could, I would be my own biggest advocate all the time. I would spend every second I could outside, and I would be the type of person that is deeply kind to herself and to all things. This soul exists somewhere, it must.
I’m not even losing weight, which makes this struggle even more infuriating. Why would I keep feeding the fear and starving my soul?