In an era of oversharing, I’ve always tried (and often failed) to be evasive about my truth. For reasons I still can’t talk about, privacy is a core concept and central memory in my brain. It’s not ominous or dark-sided, just a safety concern.

This particular email should probably be personal conversation with my care team, but writing makes things real for me. A journal, you say? Tried it, didn’t go well. Never again.

I feel like I can’t fight it until I face it.

I’m having a really hard time right now.

I don’t know that going back to food jail would be helpful or logical at this point, but I’m trying to keep it together and not really succeeding.

I was very honest with a dear friend and it kind of woke me up to how alarmed people would be if a few things were different.

1. My family and most of those closest to me have been desensitized to my shenanigans. ^{You only get to almost die once.}

2. I don’t look like Ariana. In general, restrictive behaviors are celebrated or unnoticed in fat people. It makes it very easy to fly under the radar, because there is no perceived physical manifestation.

3. I’m an adult, of sound mind, I suppose. No one can make me do anything until I can no longer make decisions for myself (see 1).

The written word has always been my truth. I’m hoping it can save me now.

I need to be my own accountabilibuddy.