Wasted

I want one day. One day in which I can relax, feel free and comfortable in my own skin. One day when I am not tormented by thoughts of self-hatred and sadness. I want to make it 24 hours without planning my suicide. I want to be more than the whiny, morose, self-involved, obsessive, dependent little girl that I am. I want to be a woman. Happy, healthy, whole, self-sufficient, strong, confident... But instead, I starve. I have been making a somewhat half-hearted attempt at kicking my eating disorder lately. I wake up every morning promising not to purge, and force myself to eat what would be considered a "normal" amount of calories without panicking. I have managed for the most part to reduce my binge/ purge sessions from a few times a day to a few times a week, and while it isn't necessarily recovery, it is a step in the right direction. Unfortunately, this leaves me with a lot of pent up frustration and no physical outlet. I can feel days worth of anger, rejection, depression, denial... so many words, thoughts, and feelings taking up space in my belly, begging to be purged. I am restless and irritable; I cannot relax. I stand in front of my mirror undressed and grab at my flesh; there are fistfuls on my stomach, my hips, my thighs. I try to picture myself smaller, try to imagine myself as delicate, dainty, as fragile on the outside as I am on the inside; but all I see are rolls and waves of skin - deformity. There is something so reassuring in allowing myself to get lost in the process of becoming less. When I am loosing I don't have to think, to feel, to focus on the world and people around me. I become my diet; my sole purpose is to shrink. It comforts me to know that I can give myself over to some higher purpose, that when everything and everyone around me is chaotic and confusing, I can slip into a world of numbers and ideals, and all is calm; I am safe.