Title seems appropriate. My brain feels like it’s overloaded, I feel overloaded with food, overloaded with emotion, with anger and sadness and anxiety.
I had breakfast this morning. 3 days in and I’ve already broken my “no eating before noon” rule. I hate myself. I am weak and disgusting. No self control. No discipline. Airy fairy loose cannon. Pronutro and green tea. At least I can remember to do the green tea thing. I’ve stopped taking all my pills. No more digestive enzymes or burnout pills for adrenal fatigue, no more magnesium (granted I hardly took those anyway), no more berbermycin. I was trying natural medicine but what’s the point.
I have officially just scrolled through every past post on this blog to try figure out what or how I was eating when I lost all that weight. Seems even back then I had problems with self control but at least I succeeded on some level. I was 52kg (114.6 lb). What a dream. Now I am a whopping 59kg (130 lb). Same weight I think I was when I started dating my boyfriend nearly 3 years ago. Except I feel fatter. Uglier. Slobbish.
Looking back I was also thinking of how cyclical all of my labels are. If it’s not one it’s the other. And I wonder to myself if it’s because, as much as I complain about it all, I enjoy the punishment and the hole of familiarity. It’s obvious I have self-love issues. And I have punished myself in so many ways over the years which probably has contributed to all the physical illness I now suffer. I complain but I like the endo pain/punishment of Ana/IBS pain because it means I feel something, it punishes me without me having to cut or over medicate. And of course it gives me an excuse to opt out of life when I feel like it. In fact, they all do. Sorry, can’t do today because I’m in pain/I don’t want to eat/I’m too angry/too tired. I don’t want to be alive. I never have. This is the underlying issue of years and years and years of cyclical disorders and chronic illness. I. Do. Not. Want. To. Be. Here.
I dislike the world. I detest humans and their egos. Including my own. I hate the stress. The constraints. The judgement and masks and façades and games. The rules that make no sense. Money is just pieces of printed paper. Laws that allow a man to rape little children and only get a few years in prison because he didn’t leave bruises, or allow governments to build “fire pools” and steal from the people who slave away at work, or won’t allow me to shoot a man who is attacking me because I’ll end up in prison for murder whilst the attacker will walk away scot-free. Companies who fill our food and beauty products with chemicals and fillers just to make money. The fact that there are so many rules about travelling to other countries. There is no justice. No logic. No love. Not in this system.
Humans are the parasites that will kill this world. I don’t think it was always so. I dream of a place or time when it was full of harmony, acceptance and ancient wisdom. Kindness and love and awareness. Or maybe it’s the spirit world that I somehow remember. Because on some level I remember that I am not from here. I know I am stuck in this ghastly excuse for a meat suit traversing a world that isn’t even real. It all seems so goddamn pointless. Except, yes, I know I chose this life and I have lessons to learn in order to grow. HAH. What if my lesson is to learn to live in this confining body.
I would give up my physical senses any day just to be free again. Part of the wholeness. I know on the inside that I am rejecting this human experience on nearly every level. The only reason I am still here is because something keeps me lingering. Curiosity perhaps. And lately of course the pull to leave has been incredibly strong. But I have done nothing because I know how suicide effects those left behind. I can see how it left lifelong scars on my boyfriend when his dad shot himself. And I have first-hand felt the pain and emptiness of losing someone to suicide when my mum’s boyfriend shot himself about 2 years ago. I also saw how my mum nearly disappeared into a pit because of it. I couldn’t do that to them again. I love them far too much to put them through that. So I stay. In limbo. Pretending I am excited to be studying and having goals. Cycling through disorder after disorder after disorder.
Meanwhile all I keep thinking, whether it’s in the back of my mind or more prominent like it has been lately, is please let me go home. Please let me develop cancer or die in my sleep or have a heart attack. Yesterday I was driving in horrific weather and I was visualising myself in a car accident, mangled and dead. But free at last, and without hurting those I love by taking my own life and leaving them with questions and what if’s. This human thing is exhausting.
I could also be insane. This is a possibility.