It tickles. 

I have this awful feeling inside me that it’s eating me alive and haunting me every day. It doesn’t lets me enjoy the sun in the morning or my coffee. It gets inside my mind whenever I am taking a shower or laughing and playing with B. 

It tickles. 

The feeling that I am doing everything wrong. That I am not doing absolutely anything to get better. To live better. To make a significant progress on “recovery”. You know how Instagram is full of recovery accounts with fit girls who eat colorfully and everything all the time and they are smiling and going to art therapy and shit. 

And I am here. Stuck. Fucking stuck. Eating the same thing for weeks and weeks and Stiller restricting and purging and relapsing on self harm and feeling ridiculously depressed and down. And with my body image and self love buried 1000 feet’s under. And it only makes me feel like I am obviously not “sick enough”. Not sick enough to deserve the help. Not sick enough. 

And not sick enough doesn’t goes away from my mind. And stays there all day. Whenever I am about to do a change for good. And lately I’ve been struggling so so much it’s unreal. And it’s impossible to give me credit for the good things I do. Cause it feels like I haven’t done anything good. Neither for myself or for changing my situation. 

And doctors recommend I should you know do something of excersice. But I have no energy or motivation to do it. I also don’t have any kind of fucking creativity. I seriously haven’t draw in forever. I can’t write like I used to. I can’t take photos like I used. 

I don’t know how to get better and I don’t know how to treat myself better cause this is the live I have know for so many years that I don’t know who I am without it. I don’t know and I don’t have the courage to descover it. 

Done. I said it. 


I don’t have it. 



I was bathing B when my father walked into the room and saw the cut I had on my leg. He immediately pointed at it and for the 100000 time in my life he gave me a look that was full of disappointment and sadness. We’ve been trought this a hundred times. It’s always the same. 

He says he understands, he’s there’s for me. He takes me to therapy. Buys my meds. And it’s “there” always available to talk. For him is not rational that I am not better yet. Even when I have all that and all the help in the world and a good med team. 

BUT FUCK. I am better. I am better than I was 18 months ago. Always high or drunk and fucking strangers and self harming “bad”. And restricting and  purging so  I much . I so much better compared to that. I’ve accomplished milestones in recovery. I stopped doing things I thought were impossible. And I’ve been feeling so much better. I have good days now. I sleep better. Still. One little thing for him makes all the good things nothing. And suddenly I am bad again. And not trying again. And not putting enough effort. For him relapse is NOT acceptable. Under any circumstances. 

And I tell a fucking thousand times that he simply will never understand it cause he had never felt the way l feel.  Nobody who had been trought this will fully understand. 

Yeah. They pretend they do. And they say things like “do yoga” lr “breathe” and they do everything to keep you “balanced” and “happy” and I appreciate it endlessly. But dude that’s not what I need at all. 

I need patient. Patient cause recovery isn’t going to happen overnight. Is a lifetime job. Every morning you have to wake up and choose not to go back to the same old bad things. And it’s not easy. Seriously. The choice you make when you wake up defines your whole day and probably the whole week or month. And that what most of our parents don’t fully understand. 

For them is just a matter of mind. 

Yeah maybe if i only had depression or bulimia. Maybe that could be possible. But I have BPD (and I’m NOT justifying MYSELF) but common . That’s something you live your whole life with. 

You don’t get to be cured and recovered and happy like the 6 last year’s never happened. No. You have to live with the consequences forever. And you have to deal with them and learn from them. 

And it’s so irrational that he wants me to be okay when I’ve been barely on it for a year and a half. It’s not magic. 

But he makes all the good things I do nothing just cause I had a small relapse. 

We probably need family therapy. Great

I till insist that he will never understand and he will never fully change his mind about the way my mind works. And it makes me sad. Cause he feels helpless and I feel worthless. 


Food. Food. Food.

Eating is a basic human need.

You eat to live. To survive. To be strong and healthy and functional.

People who don’t have an eating disorder eat without hesitating whether they should or shouldn’t. They enjoy it. They just see it as a very normal thing that is needed to survive. They don’t count calories or fat or read ingredients and compare them. They never hesitate whether they should eat another cookie or a second dish of something they really like. Nobody questions anything cause eating is normal. 2-3 times a day with 1-2 snacks. No special food. No special diets. No nothing. Eating is normal.

And it wasn’t until I started therapy’s that I realized my eating was very very very dissordered and distorted by the ideas I’ve had for a long time about food.

You know. This is bad. Too much calories. Too much fat. Too much sugar. NOT enough protein. Not enough fiber. Compared to this or that. This is better. Don’t eat carbs. Don’t eat bread. Don’t eat fats. Don’t eat sugars. Don’t eat cereal. Don’t eat cookies. Don’t eat chocolate. Don’t eat ice cream. Don’t eat fried things. Don’t eat regular food. Light is better. Zero calories is the best. Don’t eat high sugar fruits. Don’t eat potatoes. Don’t eat meat. Don’t eat eggs. Don’t eat chicken. Don’t eat mayo. Don’t eat pizza. Don’t drink cow milk. No. No. No. Nada. Bad. Bad.

Eat organic products. Eat whole grain bread and rice and pasta. Eat light products. Only drink things with Splenda or svetia. Only calorie fruits and veggies. Use coconut oil. Good. Only eat at home. Only things you cook. Only able to eat at home. It’s healthier. It’s better. Yeah. Better.

Somedays I break down in the Kitchen cause I can’t let myself eat anything I have. Or I stop myself before tasting something cause I know I won’t be able to stop. Most of the times I eat standing up. Or I eat one bite and do something else to distract so in that way I can finish a meal in like an hour and by that time it will be cold. So I won’t eat it. I do have this terrible terrible habit of adding more salt than what it’s needed. So obviously i can’t eat it.

When it’s the time of doing my shopping list I obviously spend 2 hours at the supermarket and it takes me an eternity everytime (just to buy the same thing) and of course it’s more expensive (not that I care). But the point is. That it distracts me. It distracts me from everything and that’s why I keep doing it.

And it’s so frustrated how the fuck everything envolves around food. Like going out with friends is going for a coffee or a nice place to eat. Going out at night means having dinner. Going out in the morning means breakfast. Food is everywhere. Food is social.

Food is a bloody little bitch. That stays in my head 24/7. I haven’t even go to bed and I am already thinking about what l can eat and cannot eat the next day. At what time. How I am going to prepare it. The portion. Everything.

So I prepare my meals. That are only for me. And sometimes I don’t even eat them. They rot in the fridge and then I throw them away. Or other times I just give them away to my cousin or nieces.

I eat alone. All the time. So no one questions anything. So no one tells me anything or criticize anything. It’s better. Yeah. Better.

The truth is that a normal person doesn’t thinks in all this. They just simply fucking eat and keep going with their day.

But I can’t.