Life Is A Good Enough Reason

I need to eat something, and so the fight within my mind begins. The first argument is usually that I'm not hungry. I'm so accustomed to living with the symptoms, that I don't recognize the most obvious body signals. Still, my mind tells me that I need to have a reason or an excuse to eat. Everyday I talk myself into it. I have to. I want to live, so I eat, but the fighting is madness, and it is tiring. The opening and closing of cupboards and refrigerator doors, sitting at the kitchen table with my head in my hands, the mindless eating over the sink, it is all so old, so familiar, so boring. My inability to just disappear at times pisses me off. "Don't see me," I want to shout! My belief that I was strong enough to starve myself made me feel untouchable. You can't take what you don't see...

The struggle is what tells me I'm alive. The passionate anger I feel toward this eating disorder is what makes me believe that I will win. Hell, I AM winning!