With Every Step You Take…

🎵 I’ll be good I’ll be good
And I’ll love the world like I should
I’ll be good I’ll be good
For all of the times that I never could. 🎵

-Jaymes Young

Why can’t I apply this to myself?
What is in my brain that keeps me from learning to love myself?
Why do I self-sabotage?

I told the truth.
I got “stop glorifying restriction” as a response.

I wasn’t glorifying behaviors, I was telling mine.
Obviously can’t be truthful.
Obviously honesty was not the best policy.

So I quit.

I lied.

I lie.

My brain is going crazy.
They don’t deserve to know.

I’ll suffer in silence.

I suffer in silence.

I desperately want to take lax.
To purge all the things they force me to put in.

Of course, it’s empowerment, they don’t FORCE me to do anything.
But they did.

With their words.
They brought him to the forefront.

He said, “See they can’t be trusted. I’ll protect you.  Let me take over.  I love you, I understand you like no one else could”.

And the switch flipped.

All of my intentions are disordered.

Completion is disordered:
“Complete so you can go home.  Complete so you restore.  Complete so I can take care of you”.

Except when it’s a food rule or fear.

Then it’s:
“Don’t you fucking eat that you pig.  I can’t believe you’re eating that.  You better fucking complete.  You better fucking restrict.  You can’t eat that.  How dare you?!”

Then there’s the bone talk.

At lunch a trivia question said, “How many ribs does the human body have?”

Immediate trigger.

Collarbones! That’s what! It has perfectly symmetrical beautiful perfectly protruding collarbones.

Then at ANAD.

Someone from outpatient led.

Skimpily dressed.

Perfectly defined collarbones sticking out just below the neck.
All the way to her shoulders.

I wanted to die.

Why don’t your collarbones look like that?
Why don’t you have perfect collarbones?
If you’d just listen to me your collarbones would be beautifully defined too.
You’ll never get those here.
You’re losing yours with every bite.
With every meal.
With every step you take.

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