When The Going Gets Tough, The Tough Get The Heck Outta Dodge?

I'm not going to lie, I've thought about this so many times over the past month that it's not even funny. I just want to quit so badly. I compare myself to other girls and it haunts me. No matter where I hide, it hunts me down and makes me feel so fucking worthless. This has been by far the hardest month I've ever had. And I've been practically forcing myself through sheer willpower to sit through it and not go curl up in a ball in the corner.

I want to cry so badly, but nothing is coming out of my eyes. Nothing but a glare of anger directed towards the world telling it to fuck off and leave me be.

I mean, I'm a "badass bitch from hell", right? And nothing can fuck with me? Isn't that what tumblr said?

My outer shell is a badass bitch from hell, but inside I'm shaking and peeing my pants and trying not to implode.

I didn't feel this way until I started recovery. 6 months ago, my disorder and I peacefully coexisted. It was a simple relationship. It told me what to do, and I did it. And it would congratulate me. "Good job, well done. You did something worthwhile today. You worked towards a more perfect you."I was blissfully numb in my isolation. A tranquil war that gave me something to fight against and someplace to channel my negative energy: myself.

Now my peacekeeper and my drug are yelling at me about what a worthless idiot I have become. "You eat FOOD! Successful girls don't eat food. Worthless. Perfect girls don't stop working out after an hour. You are giving into your body. Don't you want to conquer yourself? Take your consciousness to the higher level and make yourself a perfect soul, floating through time. Balancing on the edge between life and death; between health and insanity. Complete control. Don't you want that?!"

I do want it. I want it so bad.

I decided to recover for those around me. I didn't wish to continue to hurt my mom or my sister or my best friend. I craved my boyfriend's love and adoration. I wanted my dad to be proud. These motivations will not take me the distance. And this has become painfully apparent:

I need to find a reason to recover for myself.