We have fifteen minutes before we sit for breakfast, or what I consider fifteen minutes of pain. It is agonizing before the meals, knowing that in just minutes you are going to have to face your demons square in the face, tell them to fuck off, and then eat your food. Telling the eating disorder to step back is like telling Bush not to be two faced; it's just not realistic. And my eating disorder has been relishing in the delight of the meal plan. Up until yesterday there was flexibility. No more. M. changed my plan and I can get away with nothing. My plate must be completed.
I do not shrink back. I have secrets and because of them I can breathe. But also because of them I hate myself. I've been under the radar with cutting and the burning myself with the plethora of cigarettes laying around the center. It's not an everyday occurence, but I carry my stash around, my private selection. Which one will it be this time? Which tool, device, instrument, or utensil will it be today? None.
My hair is pink, at least some of it. I self-dyed the front strands and some of the middle. It is wild and ME is raving over it. I love the pink. Next step, nose ring.
Welcome to Missing In Sight. You may call us Becca. We deal with Dissociative Identity Disorder, Anorexia, and more. We want to share our experiences, hope, and inspiration with you so we all know we aren't alone and suffering by ourselves. We're here Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and sometimes in between, but you can reach out to us by leaving a comment, tweeting us, or using Facebook. The links are on this page.! We're glad we found each other! Let's talk!
1 comment:
just checked in on your blog when i saw you had DID, i do too, your blog is great. will keep checking in. viki x
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