Want to know if I am happy?
It is all in the weight. Or lack of it.
Other people comfort eat when depressed. I just drop.
Everything in general, but weight to be specific.
I stop eating. Simply because I cannot taste food, and sometimes, the very thought of it, makes me want to throw up. It is like the sorrow in my heart somehow translates to an inability to open my mouth. I do not want to speak, and I do not want to eat. Quite often, I do not even want to get up, move, talk, function, live.
It is scary, and not only till I have passed through it do I realise how bad it was. To live on air and coke. To read the Bible and pray so fervently because the alternative is frightening. To take long, meaningless walks that offer temporary relief. To look at your phone ring and be unable to answer for fear of human contact. To be around family and friends, to laugh and smile as pre-programmed, but not to FEEL. To be disconnected and disjointed. To be beyond unhappy. To be unable to find pleasure in the big things, and to sweat the small stuff. To watch television but not even see, to listen to music, but not even hear. To shut down, and shut out, the very people that love you. TO scream at your mom to leave you alone, because you know; if she stands in front of you long enough, she will see through all that you struggle to hold together
And the people that kill you? The ones that tell you to get over it. To pull yourself together. To move on.
Want to know how happy I am?
It is in the weight.