Nighttime showers were a conglomeration of pills, vomit, and shame. Water drips, as I unapologetically clean the drain of my "bad behaviors," attempting once again to not get caught. Day and night routines-- a clockwork called hell, but an inability to stop. I lived for the validation, but wound up with the deepest contempt towards myself, but this -- is what I receive praise for because the external world calls it beauty. I woke up in a bed with fluorescent lights filling my eyes, but cannot remember how I got to the place. Let alone-- where I might be. I make out blurs of people who do not know me, nor I, them. Moving bodies-- quickly. Doctors shouting. Noise and panic ensue, but this all fades quickly with my consciousness as I once again kiss the twilight. I am addressed by my last name and a birthdate I do not recall having given-- but at this point it no longer matters. My other identity that remains is threading pulse-- 28, 60/38 bp, severe depleted electro...
I started this blog in late 2015 when I began eating disorder treatment. What started as a personal project, grew into a page for updating family and friends, and now thousands read these posts from all corners of the world. This blows my mind. Today, I consider myself recovered, but my work as an activist is just beginning. For additional inquiries, please feel free to email me.