Wow, the words of Plath could not have been more appropriate for what I've been feeling this week; yes, this will be a "woe is me" post. Vomiting and laughing is permitted while reading.
I feel as if I haven't slept in days; I'm finding it incredibly difficult to even concentrate on writing this post. It has been one of those weeks of self re-evaluation, vicious thoughts of self criticism and hatred, where I have been completely consumed, and incredibly overwhelmed, with the idea of who I have become. Is this me? Is this what my life will be like? Forever? Is this it?! Are I not suppose to be happy, having fun and living an adventurous life like a young 25 year old woman should? I realized how inexperienced I am, inexperienced in just being a real person. Another quote that seems appropriate for my situation was said by Thoreau: "how vain it is for me to sit down and write when I have not stood up and lived." I like to believe my isolation, my odd and secretive relationship I have with myself, assists in my poetry; but it also hinders it. I am going to reluctantly admit, I get extreme social network depression. Yah, I said it, and I wouldn't doubt there are people out there who can admit the same thing. Every time I log onto Facebook someone got engaged, is "so excited to go to a awesome party with tons of awesome friends", or uploaded photos of a fun night out, is going on a 3 week vacation to Europe. My most hated post I see far too often is people quoting those disgustingly cliche sayings like "life shouldn't be measured by how many breaths you take, but by how many moments take your breath away." *vomit in hands* Who are these fucking people? Look, I know everyone has their own problems, but I swear to god I must only be "facebook friends" with people who have these marvelous lives of pure and utter happiness? It drives me nuts!!!!! It actually makes me happy when the weather is horrible here because it rains all over these peoples joyous parade of loving life. Bastards.
Someone asked me the other day what I wanted, what do I expect life should consist of that would make me happy. I didn't know how to respond. I don't know what I want. Who does know what they want? I have no idea what it would take for me to look forward to each day, to go to bed and not sleep because I was excited about what the next day was going to bring, rather than not sleeping because I can't stop thinking about how miserable I am.
Of course, my first initial thought after being asked this question was if I was skinny again I'd be happy; yes, I was still sad, but at least I was skinny and sad. Nothing seems to be worth my interest anymore. I can't trust anything besides my eating disorder, I've completely fallen to its hands; it has been so long I just can't find hope into a life without it. Nothing is as reliable, safe, predictable as my eating disorder. However, I can acknowledge that I can't live with it forever, it'll kill me both emotionally and physically. What frightens me is that it doesn't scare me anymore. Have I given up so much that I don't even have the energy to engage myself into actively being human, where fear, love, hatred, sadness, happiness, all seem to be a useless commodity that is no longer required in my life? Maybe. Bitching about it is becoming so exhausting, but changing seems even harder.
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