It's very strange to have my disorders encouraged. It's even stranger to openly contemplate the pros and cons of purging with my boyfriend even though we both know it's been two days since i've eaten. He doesn't understand eating disorders, he barely comprehends my abhoration of my body. He takes me to the gym, questions my food choices, and encourages my disordered thoughts. I love it. I love the complete freedom i have to live as i please. If i decide to eat, it's my choice. If I don't, the few murmurs of protest so commonly echoing in my home are gone. My family has accepted in the sickest and most twisted way i'm dying. My boyfriend is either stupid or just trying to appease the control freak in me by allowing me to completely run my life and choices.
I refuse to see doctors, even as i grow dangerously skeletal. I no longer go to NA and pray to god i never run into an aquaintance who can supply me. I hide in my house, only escaping to shop or work. I fear friends and hanging out where as i once beemed at the thought of envious stares.
Once upon a time i thought of this as a game. So many people will roll their eyes with disgust. A game they'll say? You thought of an eating disorder as a game? The answer is yes. Each pound gained is a point for the opponent, the inner demon forever taunting me. Each loss yet another feat. The prize was always clear. I'd finally be free. Every restraint controlling me or telling me who i am would be shattered or starved into myth. The exercise always some mindlessly stupid excuse to witness my skin wiggle on my bones. The doctors, parents, friends, teachers all another opponent whom to confuse, control through my rebellion. Now i sit here, debating whether to purge stomach bile and think, 'was it ever really a game?' I think about the texts i'm recieving suggesting i purge water if i must and wonder, who is it really that doesn't understand?
Robert McCloskey
