going under

If there exists a rubicon in my little world of insanity, I believe I've crossed it. And although I think psychiatry is quackery for the most part, I want to talk to a head doc. I seriously don't understand the intense and non-stop physical manifestation of this anxiety. There must be an explanation for it.

Of course there is the issue of food. Fucking food. Nauseating me, making me ill, and I just want to run. My chest aches a lot of the time. It's hard to know if it's from anxiety or if I've finally done enough damage. For the sake of the kids I've been taking vitamins, especially calcium and potassium. When the balance isn't right with those, cells can't function.

I don't really want to die, you know? It's just so easy to cross the line. Maybe it's not that a line is crossed, but that awareness is reached or denial shattered. I can momentarily admit that I have a mental illness. Eating disorders really are capricious and deadly. They make no sense.

I long to see the bigger picture. What purpose does it serve society to have so many women using their intelligence and determination for the sole purpose of being thin? Why are we so sick? I mean, isn't it enough to live in a society that treats women like shit? Must we kick our own asses or do we just internalize the messages we receive about women?

Ok. Fine. I'm scared. Alright? I wish I could hang on to my behaviors and not get too small, not get unhealthy. At the same time, I'm comfortable with it. I know this. And I feel so stupid for not letting myself return to this brilliant escape sooner. It's all consuming. Nothing matters. It's giving me what my past drug addictions gave me, an out. Why did I wait so long to let it pull me under again? It seems so silly to have ridden the surface of my disordered behaviors toward food for as long as I did.

Pull me down and down and down. Return me to the place where I belong; floating toward the bottom.