In The Darkness I Found Radical Authenticity

During the maniac’s hours I read the Holy Bible and I wrote madly about my current relationship with anorexia.

I was quelled by the reading, and air-lifted by my eyes discernment of my anorexia this early morning. For it is the darkness of the maniac’s hours that our Radical Authenticity usually shows its truth for another to bare and all the noise and distractions that are committed by the sinner dissipate into the darkness of the early morning hours, when the distortion the Authenticity of one’s self is not possible.

Surely one asks while about the devil at play? The devil is tied to the darkness within ones self not to the darkness that filled last nights moonlight darkness as the clouds played havoc on the light that was supposed to save me from the Truth of my Radical Authenticity. I had hoped to prevail another night, another early morn, or even a week before the mirror of no lies, no smoke, just pure unadulterated mirror was brought for me to stare hard and with harsh judgment at my body and face that comprise me, but do not resemble me ever with the sun shining brilliantly hours later.

It is the darkness that the shadows of my gaunt face, hollowed out cheekbones, and sunken eyes, sitting atop of a frail body of a gutted ribcage, and limp limbs without any muscle stood before the mirror and reluctantly saw my Radical Authenticity and owned what was in front of me as mine, and the insidious disease of anorexia nervosa.

I can not lie for the mirror spoke the complete Truth. I am not doing well, and my injuries have masked the attention of my declining weight and replaced it with shattered bones and operations to repair the wretched damage already caused by the anorexia I used to call my best friend.

The scale is down, and it has been coming down for weeks now. No matter what story I spin or explanations I use to defend my pathetic self, I am losing my way with recovery as the very disease that caused my bones to break in that fateful fall, is now shedding pounds off my shell of me that I haven’t to lose. I don’t want this weight to be leave me, I swear I don’t. I do not want to be ill or fragile as I appear, always ready to prove to the unbelieving just how tough I am. I can really do it, but only for a minute. Any longer and I will fall into a heap of skin and bones, desperate for things to be different immediately and without the hard work I spent so long on this disease that requires a deeper fight, a bloodier mess, a broken soul I have been avoiding by turning to God and the Holy Trinity.

I will not let my soul be broken by this disease that wooed me in so cunningly, made me its best friend, had me soaring high above the mere mortals on starvation that put my mind in an unspeakable place of desiring starvation, and my skeletal remains.

I am leveled today by the course of this anorexia and my own failures in my recovery. I have yet to eat today, but yet I want, or I say I want this all to stop. Contrary to my believes, words are cheap, yet I am a hypocrite of the worst sort to fall back on pitiful words that will move me nowhere closer to healthy and recovery, and surely will seal my fate as another lost to anorexia.

I cry tears of fury for this disease I never saw coming, and I cry for the amount of damage I have allowed this disease to wreck on my once perfect able-bodied skeleton. My face, is just barely recognizable and causes people who know me to burst into tears at the hideous sight of myself; myself I worked so hard and long to create along with the anorexia.

My choices are few as I have played most of my cards. I can not tolerate my mere words of change on this subject and only through silent Radical Will can I rise from the ashes like a Phoenix in the night.

The question is not even a question anymore. It is my final option. I do it silently and I rise like a Phoenix and I show everyone that Corey Britton was stronger and more powerful than this anorexia nervous.

I feel the challenge, and it awakens a part of me never before touched by any of this. My ego is my last card. Does anorexia kill Corey Britton slowly and painful as it has been, or does Corey Britton armed with nothing but Radical Will dig deeper than ever before and fight this monster, and stop looking at envy at people at the gym where I wish upon a million tiny stars to be there growing and rebuilding my precious God-given body and mind.

The time is now for a lot of things. I must eat, and eat I will. I must eat enough to stabilize my weight and after I get my hand taken care of I shall return to the gym to begin the rebuilding process.

I am so grateful for my readers, and never been quite this honest but I fear I have lost all other excuses and places to hide. So here I stand in front of you, my readers, and I ask for a simple gesture of good will to see me on my way, the only way left for me to recover from this illness before at last I haven’t any chances, and the only question that remains is that which goes on my death certificate.

I will not allow myself to be pitiful a moment longer. I must end here, and will write more later today, but right now it is time for me to eat, and eat I will. This meal and a couple more today. This is no quick fix, I didn’t arrive here overnight, but the stakes are being pulled up and this insidious disease is going to exit my life, my body, my soul, as well as all the people who love and care about me and who have watched me through starvation nearly die on more than one occasion.

I am forty, I am going to eat, and I am going to plan my meals for the rest of the day. I can only start where I am. Here I go, and stick around, for soon I will rise from the ashes, I will be at the gym, and I will take my damn body back from the wretched death grip of anorexia.