This is not going to be coherent. It's not going to be a well-thought-out essay, with a main idea and ideas to support it and a thoughtful, meaningful conclusion. It's not going to be an engaging short story about anything super imaginative. It's going to be just writing for the sake of writing. It's going to exist because the pressure I put on myself is immobilizing and I need to break though it.
I also feel like I have to reach a certain point of recovery, of okay-ness in order to post in this anonymous personal blog that no one reads and no one knows about 0r-- for lack of a better word-- cares about. That okay-ness never comes, or it does come but doesn't last and I find myself back where I started. Struggling. Clueless and paralyzed.
I've got this eating disorder that there is no substantial discourse about, or at least not that I can find. I don't see it covered much in the Atlantic, New York Times or Washington Post. I've seen some articles in Huff Post but no one talks about it the way it should be talked about. It's much more common than anorexia and bulimia but somehow those diseases have a voice and COE does not. What I want more than anything is to be that voice. I want the world to know this disease exists-- that it's real and people don't have to suffer. They can recover or at least live squarely on the path to recovery, because that is better than living everyday in the depths of the disease. I want to people to understand what it means to be a compulsive overeater--what it feels like everyday to be unable to put down the food after decades of dieting and exercise and recovery and relapse. I want to be that voice but I am terrified of being that voice. To be exposed to the world like that, seems more vulnerable than being naked. Could I use an alias?
