“You’ll be able to call me whenever you want, Kessa. You know why?”

“Because I don’t have to be sick to get attention?”

“Because you don’t have to be sick to get attention.”

I get this intolerable feeling in the center of chest, like I can feel it right there, my eating disorder. Sometimes I rock back and forth, back and forth, legs crossed, crying. Crying to get it out, wishing I could just reach in and make it go away. It’s horrible really and I wouldn’t wish it on a single soul. Any soul but my own, that is.

What has it been, six years now? One in attempt at recovery, and in that single year three relapses? I wonder what it’s going to take to shake this out of my system. And even as I stand, hunched over the toilet, purging again, I swear, I want to get better. 

It’s a cycle. A rotation of different symptoms that never ceases to give my body rest. I’m either not eating, not eating enough, eating just enough and purging, bingeing and purging, or the worst, just bingeing. 

The worst part is, I feel so alone. I know I’m not. I know other people struggle, I do, but I never can wrap my mind around that when I’m in it. When I’m in it, I’m alone. Just me and my eating disorder and I almost wouldn’t have it any other way.

It’s taken so much from me and still, I cannot let it go. I’ve lost so much and still I am afraid to let it go. My eating disorder controls my every thought, my every move. Just tell me you understand, that you care, that you struggle too, and I think, I think I’ll feel a little better. Maybe so better that this time it’ll stick. That this time, when I try to recover, I’ll actually do it. 

There’s got to be more to life than this. 

“Hey, can I join?”