I hate days like today.
The days where I hate every reflection of myself that I glimpse. The days where I have this uncomfortable feeling of disgust about myself and my image.
I hate these days where I become so scared, yet again, that I’m never going to be ‘perfect’. These days where my biggest fear is looking ‘fat’ this weekend.
I hate having days where the Demon plagues my thoughts with negativity. Days where I feel like I’m being swallowed whole.
Questioning every decision to eat, every exercise that doesn’t seem to shift any weight. Constantly questioning when, if ever, I’m going to feel good enough.
It screams at me that I’m huge and ugly. That I’m weak and disgusting. And the worst of it is, I appreciate these words aren’t true, that I am actually worth more than I think I am but that, in turn, makes me feel ashamed and embarrassed that I even have this illness in the first place.
I have these days where I do just fine, great in fact but I really hate that days like today seem to eradicate any progress I make.
Any step I took forward seems forgotten, lost in that dark space that swallows me whole.