Conflicting Emotions

Everytime I look in the mirror, I feel like punching it. The reflection that stares back at me haunts my dreams at night and wakes me up in the morning. Can any of you imagine how scary it is to watch your previously healthy body wither and shrink into a skeletal corpse right before your eyes? To me it seemed like one of those surreal TV shows when they fast forward to show the dramatic changes that took place. To me, this is like a waking nightmare I can't get out of; that I'd give anything to wake up from.

Nothing is really working, 'they' say I'm on the road to recovery but I find that hard to believe. Sure, I'm eating a heck lot (2300 calories not enough?) and my weight is slowly gaining back. However, everyday, I'm forced to watch midnight strands of hair fall from my shoulders and onto the white bathroom tiles as I attempt to glide a tiny brush through its thinning layers. It's like a stab at my heart everytime I look down and see those limp lifeless silk threads splayed out like spiderwebs. And it scares me beyond anything else.
Everyday, I wakeup and I wonder why I bother anymore. I've become so secluded, even going out with friends bothers me. I no longer want to have contact with the outside world and it pisses me off to be interupted from my daily rituals. You see, I have a set of things I MUST do everyday to keep my mind at ease. And I know it's not a normal or healthy habit but that's just it, I HAVE to do them. Like how I HAVE to run in the mornings for six days out of week or how I MUST get my daily dose of food writing/blogs. I've dug my self into this dark dungeon and I'm running circles in it. It's a cylce that just continues. At one end I desperately want to get better, yet at another corner of my mind, some parasite clings on and holds me back from it all. It's like two sides battling it all out in my mind to see who gives in first.

For instance, today I was doing my morning jog but this time with these new shoes I had never worn before. As my face hit the cool, crisp air and my feet hit the solid asphalt drive way I knew something was wrong. It didn't take long down the driveway and onto the steep little trail in the back before I figured out what. Turns out, the shoes are like two sizes too big and the high backing (which I'd originally thought was good support) forced the tongue to cut into the front of my vunerable ankle. I really should've stopped there, I knew it, but I couldn't stop now, oh no, I had to go on because how else would I get my excersize in? I feared that if I stopped for even a moment, it would be defeat and I would never get back on the trail and start running again. So I kept running, the whole twenty-eight minutes, call in stubborness or idiocy. And each step was a trial I willed myself to fight for. The tongue of this shoe had a stiff leather tip and I could just imagine it slicing into my thin flesh with every step I took. The end result? Now I'm sitting at my computer with symmetrical bandages on each ankle covering two identical bleeding red cuts. Oh yeah, NOW I'm feeling the consequences. The sick thing is, I don't mind it. I even kinda like the pain of it. No, I'm not a sadist, I just find that pain is the only thing that really grounds me. Hey, if I ever get out of this shit alive I can proudly say my pain threshold has grown by 300%, that's good news right?

Last night I gave this blog some more thought, and I decided that since I already started it, I might as well see the thing through. I've been suffering my disease for eight months and counting, I've been on 'recovery' for the last four months or so and I've been keeping everything pent up for way too long to count. So maybe this is my way of releasing some of that anger and stuff.
Bear with me please. Cause I can barely bear with myself.

P.S.: I'm hoping that not all my entries will be this depressing, in fact, one reason I started this is to get away from the reality of my sickness. I don't want to be labelled gloom and doom! Just some of the times...