A Sweet Distraction

In the dream, they are chasing me

running in slow motion

arms and legs too heavy.

Their hot, angry breath on my neck

and no one can hear me scream.

The first thing that I do when I wake up is to tentatively run my fingers along my rib cage and down to my hips, longing to feel the comfort of my own bones beneath my hands, but they are now covered with flesh. Too much flesh, I think. I could walk on the treadmill at three a.m., and no one would know.

This is where my eating disordered mind has taken me this morning. A sweet distraction. I realize this as I head downstairs to put on my Nike's, and make a detour to my computer to write instead. I suppose that I recognize where this disease wants to take me, and that is half of the battle. The other half is actually having the willpower to win, and I wonder...do I have it in me? I miss my bones, and why? What do they represent? I used to feel such a sense of accomplishment when I could feel the sharp angles through my skin. I'm a failure. Is this all that I think that I'm good at? Starving myself ? When the pain gets too close, I find myself resorting back to the old behaviors, precisely because they work. There is no replacement behavior to put in it's place. I know that I just have to let myself feel, but, ...I'm afraid. The feelings will be too much. I will be...too much.