*Trapped*

If you've ever had an eating disorder, you know exactly what it feels like to be trapped.

You know the time when you ate and could not exercise because it's way too late in the night and your parents would go nuts if they knew you were running miles at midnight.

Or when you know you cannot purge because you knew that somebody hear you in the bathroom or find your laxatives in the box under your bed. And if they found the box under your bed they'd probably also find the measuring tape, chewing gum, food diary, and those notes to yourself reminding you of the joys being thin will bring.

Then they'd know you were mentally unstable. And if they found that out, they'd make you recover by shoving food down your throat. That's certainly not what I call recovery.

Recovery is a mental state. A feeling of confidence in yourself and optimism in life. Recovery is your reason to live. Unfortunately I have not yet found recovery.

I'm still feeling trapped.

The food in my body is sliding around my stomach like corrosive acid, souring my stomach, preparing me for a purge. God my body knows me only too well.