White Booty Shorts & Eating Disorders are Equally Unforgiving.

The words seemingly so profound within my head are complemented by the lyrics in my headphones. The energy that's radiating off me is manifested in phrases mirrored by moments in my mind. Oh shit that's good, I should blog.

I came in my room with every intention of dancing. The energy pulsing through me is steady, a cunning calm. It feels like power, it feels good, I want more of it.

The thoughts keep coming, morphing into a conversation. ED is talking with me. Fluid we move around my room in discussion. Even though our tones level with some contempt it is not a fight like it usually is. Just old friends catching up. Don't you love those friends you don't see for a while and when you do it's like you never parted?

Ah she wants me to tell you that I will probably fail, as I do every time she takes a hold, I will succumb to the food, my body will be too exhausted to do anymore reps, I will put on my safe pants...I will act as though she is not there. But she will not let me go easily.

Viciously we cut my body with strong succinct words and a rage that I have not felt in a long time. Together we avoid dinner (an omelet) and the urge to cry. I cannot lose the power.

I want more of it, because I feel as though I have none.

I suddenly softened earlier when writing when I realized the above. My life, while better than it has been in a long time, feels out of control. I have my hands in a million things. From a busy work schedule to another job on the weekends, a set workout schedule, two blogs I support, therapy weekly, taking the thousand of steps to get a car and still trying to enjoy myself ... everything I try to accomplish grows two heads it seems. I feel like I'm drowning, flailing to keep my head above water.

And ED is back lashing at me for crying and writing instead of doing my never ending to-do list.

I can't seem to control my weight like I used to. I used to be able to accidentally lose weight, scaring those around me and delighting myself. I have let myself go and I can't seem to stop. Right now in this moment I cannot see how eating, not working out and doing what I (instead of ED) wants to do is at all progress. It's pure weakness.

At first with the whole control / lack of control / ED realization I felt soft. As I realized it I forgot to breathe, clenching my jaw I tell myself don't let the tears come, I'm not done writing. Get this emotion out of me, ironic I wrote a post about giving them room last time she snaps at me, see failure? The control thing is textbook ED. You don't feel you have control or you don't so you create it with something you can control, your food or lack thereof.

All of this started because of a fucking number on the scale and the fact that I tried on XL boy shorts in hope all my hard work at the gym would pay off. I would look sleek and sexy in white boyshorts at my next rave like all the other girls. And while the shorts were made for women they might as well be made for little boys by how they fit me. I bulged out of them. Standing there pasty white, slightly sweaty, under the unforgiving Fred Meyer dressing room lights I saw myself, I turned around to see just how bad it was and the tears flowed. I am a disgrace. How could I even think I was alright? How could I let go of what was 'working'? I hung my head through the store after I left the dressing room, the feeling of shame all too familiar and welcoming.

And that's where I'm at.