But I'd never wish an eating disorder on anybody. Usually.
I say usually, because if there was a way to palm off how much I'm currently struggling with my body onto somebody else, I would leap on it. I'm really, really horrified both at feeling that and at expressing it but the truth is, if I could give my bad days, blips and relapses to a stranger and never have to look that stranger in the eye, I probably would. I have to remind myself, because I start obsessing about how awful I am as a person for wanting to throw my misery onto somebody else, that it doesn't work that way and so this is a moot point, but it's kind of scary thinking that other people could/do go through all of this too.
For a while, I was certain that I was going to be in the number of the 1/3 people diagnosed with anorexia who go on to die from it. As if by dying myself, I'd be saving 2 other people from the same fate. It was comforting, as if I was doing something worthwhile and honourable. In a way, not playing the martyr is maybe a sign that I'm growing in self-esteem. I don't have to die. Maybe. It's a confusing idea.
And as much as I know it's not true, I've been thinking a lot about whether or not misery is finite. If there's always the same amount in the world, is it my duty to take up more than my share to protect other people? Is that arrogant or selfless? Or both?
Sorry, this is all really garbled. My head is going a million miles per hour and my body can't keep up so I'm probably only typing about half of what I'm thinking. Today just isn't a good day. It's the kind of day that makes me scared that my recovery is fragile. It's the kind that makes me want to hide in bed for a year, until I've lost 'enough' weight. It's just not good.