SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP

As I sit here in my new skinny, high-waist jeans I hear the words "you cut out this food and then that and I'm going to sign up for a marathon." And my pants get tighter and my anxiety higher.

I just barely am ok with letting go this holiday. Maybe because I'm writing I'm actually not ok with it. Ya actually my ED (I'm really trying to separate the disease from me and my thoughts) is so fucking pissed at the idea that I did what I did and I can't do anything about it now. The damage is done. And I am sitting here uncomfortably with the consequences. I want to rip myself apart verbally and physically. How could I live under this illusion that I would be ok with eating seconds? Butter on everything? Having a drink every night? Idiot. Now look what you've done. You've stepped out of line and now you'll pay for defying me.

Recovery and the work I'm doing never stops--or well it shouldn't if I want to make progress. Yes I had more than two cookies a day and yes I didn't work out once and yes I sat with the thoughts and the uncomfortability for the last week of it all thinking I was somehow pushing forward in my recovery but I feel like the biggest fucking failure now. I want so badly to workout non-stop, to cut calories to show all of you people that talk of diets and exercise how it's really done. But if I let up now and give in I'll only let it win and have gone through all of that for no reason.

God I wish none of this fucking mattered. But it does. It feels like it really fucking does.

All of this anger and hate comes from me overhearing a conversation. My simple morning turned upside down.

I am frustrated that life is like this for me. That I am not further in recovery. And I am also just fucking bitter that I'm so uncomfortable all the time. Before I was with therapists to talk to, dietitians, girls and guys just like me that understood. Now I am seemingly alone. Stuck in my head and these fucking jeans and this environment that's full of people throwing out their regrets, calorie counts, diets and distorted view of the word healthy.

Sometimes I believe I am not the one with a problem but the rest of you are. The way you define healthy, the way 'cleansing' is seen as healthy even though it's essentially anorexia, how you post photoshopped pictures of models on your pintrest to push yourself further in your workout and publicly shame yourself for eating too much food. AND I'M THE ONE WITH A PROBLEM? I'm just trying to get my five grains a day and workout to relieve stress. But nothing around me supports this idea of moderation, enjoyment and pride in our bodies for the way they are.

I'm so fucking sick of having to work so hard to try to be normal in a world that doesn't know what normal is.

I usually like to end on a positive note. To end concisely. But I'm going to leave this open and uncomfortable. I'm going to sit with my anger and feel it.  Because as much as I fucking hate it it's ok to be uncomfortable.

Let's Get Sexual.

I've been waiting for you.

The anticipation is killing me.

This excitement only comes with the unknown.

My heart skips a beat. My head races.

Then I see you.

My stomach drops.

You start off slow. Tease me.

With the lightness of a breath you trace up my spine.

My body is alive with anticipation.

My breath quickens.

I let out a yell.

I can't help myself. 

I want you. All of you.

You've enveloped my senses.

I don't know where I am.

What have you done.

Don't stop.

You bite at my ears.

Play with my hair.

I stretch my body to the sky.

Vulnerable.

It's just us.

Just do it. 

Make me lose control.

And with one movement. In one second. 

You have all of me. I'm yours.

Pulse push twist turn. 

Grab me. Hold me.

Make me work.

Push me harder. Pump it faster.

Excitement shakes through my body.

Here it comes.

Lift me up. Get me high.

Sweat drips. Hearts race.

I pulse to your pace.

I'm yours if you just take it-take it all away.

You see me at my worst and bring out my best.

You make me feel alive. Transformed

Take me away from who I am. Where I am. What I am.

Make the impossible possible.

There's nothing other than this moment.

And this is all I need.

Exhausted you slow.

I've never felt more alive. Calm, serene yet awake—aware.

Present.

You are my hope. 

My ease. Happiness. 

Maybe everything will be ok.

Maybe life is this simple.

EDM you are everything. 

So I was trying to be dirty and make you think I was talking about ChaCha and I and well that's just none of yo bizznass. But I wrote this to apply to how EDM makes me feel time and time again. Nothing but my higher power who I call God and electronic dance music get me as elated as they do.

So screw you bulimia and alcoholism. I just need to hear the bass drop.