I’m tired.

I’m tired of turning on a TV that only shows me pictures of pretty girls, perfect girls, all a size double 0.

I’m tired of walking down the isle of my grocery store where magazines advertising how to lose ten pounds jump out at me.

I’m tired of turning on the computer to ads that claim they have discovered fifteen foods that you should avoid at all costs to slim down.

Slim down.

Lose weight.

Thigh gap.

Belly fat.

Diet. Diet. Diet.

I’m tired of the never ending stream of media oh so subtly suggesting that we need to buy the next weight loss pill, drink, 0-cal beverage, and try their new “skinny” program. Because for some of us, for me, it’s not all that subtle. It’s like screaming in my face that I’m too fat to be in this world. Like this world only has place for the pretty girls. The ones with the perfect bodies and perfect hair and perfect smile. The ones that the boys love because they look like they just walked off a runway.

I’m tired.

I’m tired of wishing that I was someone else, looked like someone else, ate like someone else.

I’m tired of looking in the mirror and hating what I see and knowing that I’ve tried it all, that no matter how skinny I get I’ll always look disgusting, that I’ll never look like the models on the screen or the people around me. I’m tired of knowing that large or small I still can’t compete and I’m always someone’s second choice.

I’m tired of seeing the world like I do, because I don’t see it like anyone else does. I see people enjoying life and laughing and having fun and I wish that was me. I wish that I didn’t have to take 7 pills and liquid drugs a day to function the way that I should.

I hate that I got stuck with a disease that doesn’t have a cure. I disease that makes people look down on me when they know.

Why couldn’t I have gotten stuck with cancer? At least you can treat it and it can be cured so that it goes away. At least it’s possible. At least cancer patients aren’t looked down on.

That’s one of the worst parts about it. What I have to spend the rest of my life with is just as bad and instead of people coming to you with their support and love they all run away and make fun of others who go through the same thing.

Why can’t they just understand that I hurt just as bad or worse? That it’s like I have cancer every day of my life and they can never cure me. That I just have to live through the pain every single day until the day that I die.

It’s not something that you can just tell people. Not something that they understand.

They don’t get how hard it can be to have your body not work the way it should. They expect you to just snap out of it or listen to what they have to say and decide that you are perfect the way that you are, just decide that everything is fine and dandy. As if right after that you will always eat the perfect size meal and never overeat or under-eat and life will move on.

But it’s not like that. It’s not possible. Not even after treatment. It never goes away. It never leaves.

Some days you just wish you could walk out into the street and have a car hit you so you don’t have to live in a world that you don’t fit into. Other days you wish you would die so you don’t have to fight the urge to binge and wake up miserable in your body and still other days you wish you would die just because you can’t stand making yourself not eat. Most days I just wish I would die period.

It’s not that I’m suicidal I’m just tired.

I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of fighting when I know I will always be at a stalemate with this disease where neither one of us can win.

I’m just tired.

And if I could change anything I would make it so no one had to feel this feeling. No one ever.