I don’t know what to do. I’ve destroyed my body, I’ve destroyed my mind, and strained nearly every relationship in my life. I’ve hurt the ones I love most. My family is constantly worried that I’m going to die, and most people are afraid to say anything to me about my disorders.

I don’t know how to cope. I don’t know who I am without my eating disorder because I’ve held on to it for so long. I’m not sure I want to come out. A piece of me wants recovery, for everyone I love, for all of the good things I could achieve. But for me? I feel like a monster. Spineless, selfish, pathetic, disgusting, massive. Barely human, if at all. I want to keep destroying myself. I want to feel the blade against my skin, I want to feel the sting in my throat as I purge, and the empty numbness that comes with starving myself. I want to run as far as I can, pushing myself past the point of consciousness.

What’s worse? Wanting to die or not wanting to live? Because I don’t know if I want to kill myself. It’s more just that I don’t want to live. It’s absolutely pathetic. Shameful. I’m wasting my days, trying to convince myself that I want to get better. And here I am, restricting in treatment, being asked if I feel “safe”. I could jump out of the window right now. God, I deserve this. I deserve every ounce of pain and suffering I have. I deserve more. They say things get better before they get worse, but things aren’t looking up any time soon. I’ve been in residential treatment for three weeks and two days. I have nothing to show for it, besides my obese body. 

There’s just something inherently wrong with my brain. It’s programmed to self-destruct. It’s bound to happen. I’m a monster.