Sometimes I get jealous of those in the early stages of their illness. Those in the early stages of disordered eating are in the honeymoon period — the period where it’s not really an illness yet and the word ‘diet’ is thrown around more than anything. People dabbling with crash pro-ana diets, “ABC diets”, “Skinny girl” diets. Those people are in the stage where the only symptom is weight loss and the aftermath is a sense of control and “accomplishment”. They’re in the stage where everything is new and tempting, yet at the same time, they’re flirting with something dangerous. They feel that danger and know it’s bad, but crack a small, hidden smile anyway because sometimes being bad feels a little good.
Sometimes I wish I could go back to that time, because it’s a time of being naive and ignorant to what will be — but I know that honeymoon period only lasts a short time. I think, ‘Soak it up now, baby doll, because in a few months you won’t feel on top of the world anymore,’ and I feel bad because I know there’s nothing that’s going to stop these people from falling down the rabbit hole. They don’t listen, they are exactly like how I was. I didn’t listen. I thought I could stop it when I’d lost enough weight but theres no weight that will satisfy the restrictive eating disorder. It just wants more.
I know my own personal hell is nothing to ever want, I often feel bad for reminiscing about that first time like a drug addict with his first hit, because nothing will ever be as good as the beginning.
Although the thing with beginnings is there is always an end, and unless one surrenders that need to go back to a time where things felt like they were in control, I’ll just sit and watch the new generation drink every last drop of the poison they thought was koolaid.