like a marble

As I'm scribbling notes for my French class this morning, it occurs to me that I reflect the the characteristics of the people around me and end up scattering myself to no one. The world is a scavenge hunt for vitality and life and experiences, and I explore nothing but the stagnant hole I've dug. It's familiar, and unchanged. I cling to my childhood like a patient with peter pan syndrome, and wait for life to become a reality. It isn't yet, but I still wait like a child for her overdue parents. Lost little girl, clinging to her pipe dreams of nonexistence. 

A few weeks ago I taught my mom how to recognize and circumvent a binge session by watching my eyes. They glaze over, like filtered glasses, and I am caught in a stare with the floor, pondering my options: what to eat, how much I can get away with eating, when to eat, how long I going to be binging, and what exactly I'll be occupying my mind with during the episode. See, I can't binge without simultaneously doing something else, to disconnect my brain from what is actually happening. Otherwise I don't binge. My OCD decreed I was not allowed to binge/purge without watching television or reading fanfiction. So now I eschew them. Hedonism may be glued to my core, but I am still versed in starvation. Like an old friend, it comes by to check up on me occasionally, see how I doing, and if I'm okay. But, I never dabbled in anthropomorphizing my eating disorder. I never gave it a name and personality, never let it become more that what it really was - a salacious relationship with food.

I have to prompt myself to remember that I become someone else under the influence of the ED. It devours my thoughts and my life, and erodes any sort of respectable personality I've managed to scramble together in the meantime. I become an animal, as my father was quick to point out. I rummage through the pantry and kitchen, my mind racing with stratagem. The cycle starts with my incompetence and spirals like a hamster wheel - round and round - until the doubt and feelings are gone and I'm left anesthetized. That is what I miss most; my stoicism towards life, and the grueling history it imparts.