Are you scared enough yet?

Shall i let you in on a little secret? I don't admit to this often because admitting my fear is, to me, what crying is to men. I am fucking terrified of telling people i am scared and admitting that i have fucked up. I'll be the first to admit that i have fucked up. Heck. I have had to do it a fair few times, i have it off to a fine art. But when i have to admit that i am scared; that  i don't actually have any sort of control over anything anymore, it scares the shit out of me. Just typing this is scaring me.

Allow me to elaborate.

I am not sure where to start or where this blog is headed. Maybe i will just write whatever choses to leave my fingertips and then see what happens? Yes. Plan, stan, Batman.

This is the link that has brought me to write this blog tonight. Well, it is 5am in the morning but shush. Right, so i clicked this after a girl posted the link on Facebook and i was interested. I began reading it and quickly realised that this was not your everyday, run of the mill, teeny tiny bones and eating disorder cliched shit that i have read so many times before. This was a deeply moving, three page long story of a woman's grief and despair when her daughter died of Bulimia. Fucking BULIMIA! Eurgh. At the beginning of the article, i was worried. I am often sickeningly triggered by this sort of crap (that THIN documentary triggered the absolute shit out of me and fucked me up proper. Horrid documentary!) and i was just, i don't know, apprehensive, i think.

However, i began reading and i was drawn in to this world of turmoil. I was shown just how much this woman loved her daughter and i was sort of seeing something slightly differently. You probably would have missed this moment if you had blinked but it was there. I was sat reading it in complete silence. It was like reading somebody close to you's diary. It was like taking a peak into the mind of a parent, a parent that has watched or is watching their child fade before their eyes. I don't mean fade in the physical sense of the word, as such. I mean fade from the inside out, like when you suck all of the life out of someone and you can see in their eyes that they aren't actually in there anymore. Not bright enough to be seen anyway. There is something in there but it is being powered by some whole other being, like some alien that has managed to possess your child's body. The body you created and fed, bathed, loved, hugged. This body that you know every mole on, you know exactly the moment they were born and you know that you wont forget the time they first rode their bike, the time they fell over and you applied your lips to their virgin skin. You kissed their tiny knee and everything was better.

I can't even imagine the feeling of helplessness that parents must experience when they watch this alien move in and erase their 'Before' son or daughter and replace them with this unknown, unbelievable, unpredictable disease.

Because you do get replaced. I will be the first to stand up and scream at you that 'I AM NOT MY EATING DISORDER' but, in most ways, you do become it because it becomes you. You wake and your first waking thought is disordered. You will plan your day around your morning weight or how you feel. You will plan everything, down to the final calorie. You will record everything in a mental or physical log. You will know exactly what you weighed yesterday but you probably wont know what day yesterday was. You'll forget everything you were because you are so consumed by everything you believe that you are. Life seems to hurt, like knives stabbing into you repeatedly. You can't actually imagine a life out of this rut and even if, on the rare occasions, you manage to realise you can get out, it is too hard to see how.

Basically, reading this article and gazing upon the quotes from the mother, the father and the brother of this girl, i just...Well, i felt the lump in my throat and then i felt the first tear drop from my eyelid and they just wouldn't stop coming. I just...they were fear. My tears were fear. I didn't like it because it was a foreign sort of fear. Not the sort that you tend to experience regularly. Like, it was in my chest and in my legs and just...it was everywhere. It IS everywhere and i could cry for weeks.

This poor girl was born in the same year as me. We were the same age. Had the same problems and it just...well, the same could happen, potentially. I know 'it'll never happen to me' but it could. That is what i need to fucking realise. IT COULD HAPPEN TO ME. And it COULD happen to you. It could happen to any of us. I don't want this to happen. I don't want this to keep happening to so many people around the world. And i don't want to be thinking the things i am thinking,

I am sat on my bed as i type this. I have my blanket wrapped around me for protection and i have my laxatives, ready to be taken.

I want this to stop

and i want to be shocked out of this

but i don't know if i will

or if i can be

I just want this to be over.

And i know i sound like a fuckin' drama queen but, quite frankly, i needed to vent.