searching for euphoria

It's funny how things can creep up on you.

I haven't been leaving the house much these days. I have a whole arsenal of excuses I could throw at you. It's really cold outside. I'm tired. I'll do it tomorrow. It's so easy for me to drift down this path, like burrowing into a warm dark place and falling asleep.

Therapy this week was particularly difficult.

Molly wanted to know what my depression looks like lately. Instead I told her all of the million ways in which I don't actually look at it. I told her about how I've been sleeping a lot lately. 4-5 hour naps during the day. 8-10 hours of sleep at night. How I watch meaningless tv, or play meaningless games on my phone.

And I didn't even realize it until she said it.

"That's you making yourself feel numb. What does it feel like when you aren't distracting yourself?"

I've lost the past few months to numbness. Because when I'm not numb, I think about suicide.


We were trying to create a visual of my brain.


I've spent a large percentage of my time in therapy poorly trying to explain why I hate it when therapists talk about my "eating disorder voice." Like it's this other person in my head, separate from me. 

As I stumbled my way through my argument, we landed on something that felt like truth.

Childhood development is so important. It's not a very long span of time, compared to an average lifetime. But it's so crucial to the rest of your life. And while I was learning basic things like, I am a human being, my mother was also teaching me, I am worthless. I learned about food as something dangerous. I learned about my body as something ugly and shameful.

I've barely scratched the surface of working through this, but I know one thing. My depression, my eating disorder, they are branded into my skin. I know how to count, I know what sound a cat makes, and I know that I am a fat, worthless piece of shit.


I'd moved past blaming my mother. I honestly believe I had.

But today, today I'm just angry.

It's not all her fault. Some of it is just simple brain chemistry. But some of it is. And I am stuck in a loop of familiar, painful memories. I've seen them a million times, but today they feel new. And I can't understand. I can't. 

Why would you do this? Why would you say such horrible things to your child?


I've been living my life searching for euphoria. 

At the core of my being, I don't believe I deserve to live. So why am I still here?

There are moments, like flickers of flame, that give me doubt. They are a rush of happiness. They make me think, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm not worthless. The mister. My artwork. People who love me. My little zoo of animals. Kind words spoken by genuine people.

But there's one flame that burns the brightest. 

Anorexia is a double edged sword. At once euphoric and deadly. Nothing can match it. Lower numbers on the scale, smaller sizes, protruding bones. Control. Control. Control. 

It's ironic that only when I'm physically dying do I feel like I deserve to go on living.

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