Skip to main content

too tired

I get off the phone and put my hand over my mouth and sob. I had barely made it to the end of the call before letting loose. Pretending to be fine. But I'm not fine. I stare at myself convulsing in the mirror, bloodshot eyes that spill out tears.

"Look at you," I think. "So ugly and worthless." I had done it again. Eaten when I should not have.  Too much. I feel miserable. Just as miserable as I had before I binged. If anything, worse. Guilt and shame course through my body, and I feel it in waves like heat.

I had felt so worthless and rejected and unloved before the phone call. But the phone call . . . it made me feel bewildered and tormented. Because now I am confused. Why were my friends caring about me? Is it fake? Is it real? It can't be real. My friends don't really care about me and what I'm doing. They don't care if I'm there or not. I add no significance to their lives or to anything. Sure, my two closest friends care. I can force myself to believe they do for most of the time. But everyone else? I don't know . . . I don't know . . . I just feel confused. 

I clap my phone onto the sink top and turn and stare at the toilet. Should I? I never have before. I know it isn't right. Not because I think "oh, this is wrong," but because I have read that throwing up only eliminates half of the calories. And it's bad for your health. It's not even worth it. But all the calories I had just consumed . . . I feel so worthless and awful. What is wrong with me? Oh yes, what is wrong with me indeed?

I find myself rushing to the toilet like a madwoman. I lift the lid and lean over it, shoving two fingers into the back of my throat. I have read how to do this. You use two fingers, and if that doesn't work, three. I gag several times from my fingers, but each time I fail to bring up my food. Then I just stand there, panting, tears dripping off my face into the toilet, hands on my knees.

What was I doing? How have I let myself even get this far?

 Oh God, what have I become?

I know this isn't how I'm meant to live. It's not who I'm meant to be. But I feel stuck, like a hamster in a wheel that keeps running and can't get out. Every day I try again but I keep falling back. For every small victory, there is a bigger fail.

Tired, so tired. Every day the same story. Every day is day 1. Will I ever get better? Will the race ever be over? I hate it. I want a break. I want to sleep for a long while and wake up rested and ready to fight again.

Because right now, I am tired. Tired of the fight. Ready to give up. Yet still unwilling. Oh God, I pray for Your strength. Because I can't do this. Not me. Not alone.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Going Another Direction?

It's terrifying, isn't it? To admit to yourself that your dreams, all you've ever wanted to do . . . and what you always firmly believed God was calling you to do . . . isn't true anymore. And that maybe God is calling you somewhere else. And not to where He was before. Not to where you thought you'd always be. I always felt called to orphan care. I love children. Jesus loves children. And they really need people to care about them. They are the losers of the world. Losers because they are powerless to win against the tyrannous adults who trample them. Abandoned, abused, neglected . . . they are weak and helpless, easily destroyed. And you know what? No one seems to care. We look the other way and pretend it doesn't happen. It's a common thing, right? To politely gasp over shocking horrors and tragedies, and then carry on sipping our sweet tea while complaining about how hot the weather is. Because we don't want to think about that stuff. That sh*t...
Post a Comment
Read more

Performance

Performance . . . it's where I have always sought my self-worth. I was praised if I behaved well or did a job well done. I was told I was "sweet." It became what I strove after. To make my parents happy. To get their attention. I had little else to cling to. I felt insignificant in every way. I never felt like I was enough. When I first got attention for talent in art, I clutched at it and forced myself to be good at it. I made it my identity. It was all I had. Other than that, there was nothing: I had no personality, I was uninteresting, quiet, shy, worthless. But art . . . that suddenly gave me something. Other people started projecting that identity on me as well. I remember the day I sobbed in my bed because it was discovered that my brother was also artistic - and better than me. It was all I had, and now I had nothing. I was a nobody. I had no value, worth, or significance. Always performance. Always what I could do. What I could give. I sought worth...
Post a Comment
Read more

Journal entry 6/22/17

I flipped through my journal and saw what I wrote while I was in Russia. I forgot that this stuff happened . . . I forgot the emotions I felt . . . it felt strange to relive them and remember so much that happened. here is the original entry, with no edits:  *** "I woke up laughing. Joy. Purpose. Excitement for doing God's work. It didn't matter I still have bad jet lag and only slept 5 hours at the most last night. I was bursting. This time not with tears, but joy. Last night, I could no longer hold back all the negative emotions contained in my soul. All afternoon, I felt a loneliness, and a longing to connect. I wanted to discuss my thoughts and feelings with someone. But there was no one. I felt like an outcast. And alone, but not alone. Surrounded, suffocation. Insecurities about my image and body, my personality, surfaced and completely invaded my mind. Instead of there being a focus on God and the ministry I was supposed to be working for Him, my thoughts w...
Post a Comment
Read more