More about Clarisa

Disclaimer These sections of the blog are #prose. Some of the themes in these articles might be triggering. Some of these sections are based on true stories and some are based on film, books, mythology, etc. Please, read with your own discernment.

I wish I had a bigger ass. I often do. I resorted to 10 - 12 squats a day, but I worry that I will only loose more weight. Why don’t you just eat? It’s not that simple. Why don’t you put down that cigarette? Why won’t you stop biting your nails? Do you need four cups of coffee a day? Can’t relate. What about this question, do you have to watch tv every evening? Can you stop? How long can you go without it?

You see, addictions are sneaky. The worst ones are the ones society has normalised; drinking coffee; watching tv; drinking with your friends every weekend. I am not saying that everyone who engages in these behaviours is addicted to them. All I’m saying is that all these behaviours can be an addiction. And addiction can slip away from you, like it slipped away from me. 

I thought of it as a problem I needed to fix. I knew it wasn’t good. I haven’t dared to say addiction until now. 

I always associated addiction with a high or an escape, usually it’s both. How could my eating disorder be an addiction when it has such painful consequences. Don’t all addictions? 

What does it make me feel?

I feel slightly lightheaded when I’m hungry. Lies. I feel like I’m flying. It’s a high more exciting than any drug I’ve ever tried. And I’ve tried a lot of drugs. Cannabis, psilocybin, lsd, ayuahuasca - these are all pretty safe, especially if done right, but they are no more dangerous than driving a car. Not eating though? Oh, that’s like driving a car at 300 km/h. Not eating could actually kill me. As if I’m walking on a thin razor and maybe I should just jump to end this torturous stroll. But I enjoy the rush I get when I put myself through hardship. I deserve it. I need to prove that I am strong. Yet, why am I so thin? If I’m so strong.

I worry about my depleting intelligence as the fat thins in my brain. I worry about the tits I used to have. Dying? I worry that I don’t worry about dying. I scare myself with the elaborate tricks I invent to lead to more starvation. “You look great, model thin,” they often say. Like a child suffering from malnutrition is what I’m starting to look like. None of that is great. I wish it didn’t feel so good. 

I wish I could stop. The fucked up thing is that my addiction is not an action. My addiction is an absence of action. And not doing something is much easier than doing something. Especially, when it feels so good.