I think you know
I eat until I'm sick. I use laxatives and sit around stuffed and angry and sad and emotional. I starve until I can't take it anymore and then I binge again. It's terrible. I hate it. I want it to disappear. I want to be perfect, but I don't want this eating problem anymore. They're linked. I have to accept and I am, really I am. I'm bulimic. But now I'm recovering. I never want to eat like that again, and I don't think I will. The guilt and shame eats away at me. I think you know- I know you notice. But I'm not okay, not completely. I think I will be, after changing my habits and thoughts. It really hurts to constantly think about how ugly and fat you are. It hurts to not be able to cry. It hurts to have dreams that I put lower on the list every time I eat like this. It hurts. But I'm healing. I want you to know I'm here to stay. And I've never thrown up or cut. I have thought about death, never seriously. Death is a curious thing. I don't want to die, I just want to be better. My binging has gotten to a point where I can't talk the negative voices, the despair, the calories anymore. I'm done with it. I symbolically wash my hands. I can accept myself for who I am now- no where near perfect, yet also nowhere near disgusting. I need balance and control in my life, I don't get that with my binges. I'm here to stay.
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