I wish I had an eating disorder.

I don’t know how long I have felt this way, just that it has been a long time. Whenever I eat, or think of eating, or feel so damn hungry that I know my will power will not force down the temptation, I can’t help but think “wouldn’t it be so much easier if I could starve myself”. These things aren’t something to joke about, I know that. I’m not some heartless chick who doesn’t know anything about what that sort of thing can do to a person.

Kill your own body. In a sense, that’s what anorexia and bulimia are; a way to murder one’s own being from the inside out. It is suicide, essentially.

I know all of this, and yet I still can’t help but wish that I could do that. The fear of death and hurting those I care about stops me, but the self-loathing propels me forward. Starving yourself for short periods doesn’t work, and yet there are times when I’ll purposely wait until twenty-four hours have passed before I dare consume another morsel.

Hating myself doesn’t do me any good, but I don’t know what else to do. To an extent, I’ve been trying to eat healthier and lose a bit of weight . . . the results are not quick enough for me to stick to it. The food doesn’t seem to fill me and in the end I graze in the manner of a bovine; just laze about and stuff myself slowly. This habit needs to stop but I lack the self-control, the patience, the pure understanding of the human body.

I can’t keep doing this, though. That is, cannot continue to wake up hating myself and go to sleep in the same way. I’m tired of wanting to cry because I hate who I am and it drives me so crazy. Public places repulse me, both because I loathe human contact, and because I fear what others think of me, in my less than perfect body.

As it turns out I don’t want to work out all by myself, and all of my friends are too naturally skinny, too pretty, to need to.

Sometimes I just want to vent, but even when my friends say they understand, I don’t think they do. People who are skinny, who have never been my size, never will be, can’t understand. Even though I want to make a change, it takes forever. I’ve mostly stopped eating pastas, no more chocolate, no potato chips, stopped spending so much time at the computer. I choose to walk more places now, if they aren’t too far or it isn’t swelteringly hot outside. It isn’t changing anything.

I hate who I am, have always hated who I am. The fatter I get the more I hate myself and the more desperately I wish that I had an eating disorder. I wish I had a disease. Maybe that in and of itself is fucked up, is a disease. I don’t know.

xx Muck