Today is a new day. To be perfectly honest, it feels dullingly like an extension of other crappy days. It’s cold, wet, rainy, and drapped in gloom. It’s perfectly suited for my mood, yet our compatibility makes me even more cranky.
I have been having a really hard time with Ed’s changing demands on me lately. Binge, restrict, , restrict, run as fast as I can for as long as I can. I crave my old runners high, I crave feeling impressed by where my body can take me. I crave the high of consistent restriction. The security, the purpose, the feeling of being lighter, more capable of floating away.
I miss my dad so much. The gravity of his death is slowly sinking in and the pain and despairity that it brings is terrifying. At times I feel such an overwhelming hysteria that all I can do is remain painstakingly still, for any more interaction with this fucked up world will push me over a limit I have never crossed before. The hole in my heart cannot be filled by binges and restrictions, and while I never lose sight of that truth, they serve as a numbing distraction, and for that I am grateful. I am not ready to accept this, I am not ready to cry, to scream, to let go, to say goodbye. I am not ready, never ready, refuse to be ready, refuse to, refuse refuse refuse. So I will hold Ed’s hand and try to keep our relationship under the rug, because I refuse to let that rug trip me, to admit that that rug was brutally torn out from under me many months ago.
In just a few weeks, it will mark one year since the last time I saw my dad alive. The last time I hugged the man that raised me. The last time I said goodbye. And though that weighs on me constantly, though my sleep is haunted by that shattering reality, I refuse to feel it. I don’t can’t won’t. So I’ll starve myself until I can’t feel again.
ablogger992 