I think the saddest thing for me is that no one cares. Not one single person cares that I don’t eat. I guess when you see a person who is overweight, you just assume that skipping a meal is not a big deal. Even when someone knows you have a problem, they don’t believe you. So no one ever asks if I ate or if I’m getting enough to eat. No one checks on me. No one worries. And this line of thought brings me back to the thoughts in my head telling me I am just doing this for attention, that I don’t have a problem, that I’m faking this to be thinner and have people notice me. I hate fake people. And if I am faking, I hate myself.
My mother, for the first time in possibly ever, asked me tonight what I eat for dinner. I lied my ass off, of course. And like everyone else, she was content with the lie and a smile. I wonder, sometimes, if people don’t believe I’m sick because I’m very good at compartmentalizing everything. I can appear cheery and healthy at any given moment. What no one sees are those fleeting moments when I find myself alone. When I’m in the hallway at work, or alone in the office, I usually just stop and lean against the wall, forcing myself to pull it together. Bury it further down, don’t let them see the real you. No one wants the real me, everyone wants the crazy, silly, bundle of energy who never has a bad day. The truth is, I have a bad day, everyday. I spend all my energy trying to give everyone the side of me they want, when in reality, I’m sick, I’m tired, I want so badly to cry and have someone hold me, I want someone to tell me it’s going to be okay. I hate having to smile and tell jokes. I would love to be able to just complain about things and get angry, but then people would see that side and they might leave. No no, it’s much better to just give everyone what they want and not disappoint anyone. I can go on faking everything, because the loneliness that comes when people give up and walk away is entirely too much.