Before the guilt is the high. You can do less and you can do more. You're on fire, you are buzzing, you are a success. You can do this better than anything you have ever attempted, and you can do this better than anybody who has ever gone before you. You're not stupid enough to take it too far, that's not what you're about- you're in control and you could get out, you really could. But why would you want to? You are electric. People get sacrificed, but that's their fault for not being strong enough to keep up. Feelings get sacrificed, but hunger is more bareable than fear or pain. Experiences get sacrificed, but you're experiencing something far greater- your very own ascension, a shedding of humanity.
But then life... you look around and life has been sacrificed- you're nothing and you realise that somewhere along the way, that became the aim. And suddenly it's not worth it, it's too much. You have a hunger for nothingness and a thirst for destruction and this was never supposed to happen. You can't squash these cravings as you did your physical hunger. You need out, you need to run away from this.
And then comes the guilt.
You're already used to the guilt of eating, of not eating, of purging, of not purging. You've become used to the guilt of stealing to fuel the addiction- food, pills, money. Eventually you even get used to the guilt of what it's doing to your family and your friends, because you learn to pass the blame. It's the illness- it's not your fault you're this way or that you did that thing, it's the disease. It's the fault of everyone around you- they should love you less, they should love you more. They should stop you, they should leave you alone. They don't understand. They're trying too hard or not hard enough to understand. And then further... You have this illness and that must be the fault of the media, with it's unrealistic depictions of perfection. Of those girls you once met online, who told you to Stay Strong and Think Thin. Of your genes. Of the child in the playground who called you fat when you were 6. Of God, for giving you this life. Of your parents, for bringing you into this world.
But you get past that. Then it suddenly hits you, and the guilt is unavoidable. You are stuck, you really are. And why are you stuck? Whose fault is it? It's yours. YOU were the one, all that time ago, who decided not to eat. It wasn't always an addiction, you put time into nurturing the beast. You weren't always stuck and alone, you bit off the hand that may have saved you. And that's what you can't resolve. Ironically, the guilt then becomes the thing that keeps you in the game. The voice of guilt becomes so loud that you can't hear your body crying for nourishment, you can't hear people around you crying for you to nourish it. It's impossible to hear the answers, over the sound of your own guilt. And you take that to mean you're so self-centred, you're vain, you're scum. And that exacerbates the situation further.
Little girl, you ain't going nowhere until you can forgive yourself