The correlation between my eating disorder and perfectionism drives my mental obsession into a sworded yet valuable lesson.
Weight masters The perpetuating disaster which awaits the numbers game, creating more shame in and amongst the Countdown of crevices.
“I’ll have one from the top and four from the bottom please Rachel but make sure they add up to an inexchangeable unit” because no matter the number, my heart will slumber into a shattering solitude of me versus me,
Too little for the eye to see, too big for the controlling key. My bmi is perfect, the more ppl compliment my appearance, the more my disease wants to feed,
Pinging from pillar to postpartum dinner, Delusional episodes ranging from the sugar rush to the caffeine crash of rash indecisions,
A vision of a healthier me blurs into the background as the full force of the food fuelled ferris wheel steels my sanity and panics me into a state of salacious secrecy,
Self-care becomes a pain to despair,
I’m more concerned with earned culinary delights from flights of calculated steps.
Inept at walking, my energy keeps taunting that rational side which wishes the tide would wade her weight in and stop this crazy cycle but her irrational dominates as fantastical,
“I don’t wanna let go of my best friend, she’s been with me for 30 years and got me through thick and thin…..scuse the pun……I’m not done. Please don’t take her away from me, I cannot live a life by the Sea without her beside me”…….”but yes you can” says the man from up above……it’s time to let go now of your one true love ❤️’ x
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