Hollow. Fear.
Apr. 10th, 2003 10:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brightlotusmoonI think I almost died today.
Erin called me at work, wanting to get together this evening. I haven't seen her in months; I was pretty pleased. I met her at the Vienna station in VA. We hopped the Metro, preparing to get off at Farragut North in DC to catch dinner. On the train, I was getting a severe, blinding, nauseating pressure headache. I hadn't eaten since noon. The third finger on my left hand was white and numb from cold. But that didn't bother me. What bothered me was what I started feeling as we got to Metro Center and prepared to transfer to the Red Line. We had to part ways because it was already 8:30 and much too late for either of us. I started feeling it then. Light-headed. Ghostly. I took the Red Line toward Shady Grove and had to stop at Woodley Park. I had to get to the McDonald's. I wolfed down the Fruit N Yogurt Parfait and almost cried. Adam called. It broke me to hear his voice. He said he missed me and he loved me. He asked me what was wrong because I sounded like I was crying. I was in hypoglycemic shock, I told him. I didn't tell him I had come very close to grabbing a cab to the nearest hospital. I met Billy at the Rockville Metro. I'm at Charlotte's and Billy's now, feeling better.
Do you know what anorexia feels like? It feels like death. It feels like Death standing at your shoulder, with a perma-grin, because he knows that soon enough you will look like him, Death's little sister. I have fought back for almost a year now. I can't go through it again. Hell is watching your body disintegrate and feeling empty, like a walking ghost but being unable to stop it. Hell is being called Little Skeleton Girl and being told by your loved ones, your friends, that they don't want to build that doll-sized coffin for you. That they've buried too many friends already. Hell is knowing that you're sick and being unable to stop. You can't stop. You can try. You can tell youself you'll eat four meals a day. But you don't. Because you can't. Because your stomach screams at you when you try to swallow, because your throat convulses and you're so terrified of vomiting that you'll quit eating just to keep your stomach from spilling out your mouth. Bulimia is not my hell. It never will be. But I will live with the shadow of Borderline Anorexia for a very long time. Today I went back to hell because I went back to my fear. But I also realized that I could fight back. I realized how sick I'd been making myself, and that nobody should ever have to go through what I went through. I was never fat, I never will be fat, but I couldn't see past it. I couldn't get past that fear of food poisoning. And it almost killed me. It's not worth it. Whoever you are, whatever it is, whyever you think you should...it's not worth it.
Please.
Erin called me at work, wanting to get together this evening. I haven't seen her in months; I was pretty pleased. I met her at the Vienna station in VA. We hopped the Metro, preparing to get off at Farragut North in DC to catch dinner. On the train, I was getting a severe, blinding, nauseating pressure headache. I hadn't eaten since noon. The third finger on my left hand was white and numb from cold. But that didn't bother me. What bothered me was what I started feeling as we got to Metro Center and prepared to transfer to the Red Line. We had to part ways because it was already 8:30 and much too late for either of us. I started feeling it then. Light-headed. Ghostly. I took the Red Line toward Shady Grove and had to stop at Woodley Park. I had to get to the McDonald's. I wolfed down the Fruit N Yogurt Parfait and almost cried. Adam called. It broke me to hear his voice. He said he missed me and he loved me. He asked me what was wrong because I sounded like I was crying. I was in hypoglycemic shock, I told him. I didn't tell him I had come very close to grabbing a cab to the nearest hospital. I met Billy at the Rockville Metro. I'm at Charlotte's and Billy's now, feeling better.
Do you know what anorexia feels like? It feels like death. It feels like Death standing at your shoulder, with a perma-grin, because he knows that soon enough you will look like him, Death's little sister. I have fought back for almost a year now. I can't go through it again. Hell is watching your body disintegrate and feeling empty, like a walking ghost but being unable to stop it. Hell is being called Little Skeleton Girl and being told by your loved ones, your friends, that they don't want to build that doll-sized coffin for you. That they've buried too many friends already. Hell is knowing that you're sick and being unable to stop. You can't stop. You can try. You can tell youself you'll eat four meals a day. But you don't. Because you can't. Because your stomach screams at you when you try to swallow, because your throat convulses and you're so terrified of vomiting that you'll quit eating just to keep your stomach from spilling out your mouth. Bulimia is not my hell. It never will be. But I will live with the shadow of Borderline Anorexia for a very long time. Today I went back to hell because I went back to my fear. But I also realized that I could fight back. I realized how sick I'd been making myself, and that nobody should ever have to go through what I went through. I was never fat, I never will be fat, but I couldn't see past it. I couldn't get past that fear of food poisoning. And it almost killed me. It's not worth it. Whoever you are, whatever it is, whyever you think you should...it's not worth it.
Please.
