These Demons

Chapter Forty-four

**Over the course of time I spent 'living' with my eating disorder, I did not only start to feel depressed, but also strongly detached from the world like I wasn't really there (as in consciously present) anymore. This chapter is my first real attempt to reflect that in this story.**

After spending several minutes in the hallway with a cigarette in a desperate attempt to stop my body from shaking violently, I decide to give up, call it a night and leave through the back door without saying goodbye to anyone.
Completely aware of how extremely impolite I am after everything the people inside have done to me, I don't care about their feelings or opinions and drive home without stopping or checking the speed limit once because there is barely traffic at this point of time.

I can't recall if I ate anything today anymore and don't have the strength to exercise, so when my front door is shut behind me, I do the only thing that I feel capable of doing and spend a few more hours on my couch with the TV turned on to distract me, but my head is too empty to focus.
If it wasn't so cold, I'd sit on my porch again, but the temperatures are too low for my body to handle.
Several layers of clothing are already necessary inside and I don't want to go out as burrito. That would only make me feel even heavier.

Without noticing, I pass out cuddled up between blankets, pillows and cats and get a few hours of restless, but dreamless sleep to give me a break from what I call my life.
At least for a limited amount of time, I can forget that I'm broken and depressed, starving, scared, suicidal, lonely and heartbroken and just be temporarily gone, but my unevenly beating heart doesn't stop and forces me to wake up again before the sun comes up again, and it immediately brings back everything I tried to run from.

Jittery and terrified of the world of food and judgmental people outside, I pace around in the house, tidy and clean everything several times and rearrange things that are actually already the way they're supposed to be just to keep myself busy with something, and when I give up because there's really no inch left to distract myself with, I force myself to pack my bags because I'll have to leave before New Year's Eve.
It's the last thing I want to do, but there's no way for me to escape if I don't want to upset everyone around me any further.

I've caused enough trouble and there's no need to worsen it, so I send out a few texts and tweets to thank people for what I'm not grateful for, lie about my great birthday, excuse myself with more made-up stories and lie a little more about how happy I am to see everyone on the road so soon.
As expected, no one close to me seems to believe it, but nobody dares to speak up.
They know I'll be dishonest when I answer anyway.

Once I've survived another appointment with people I don't want to meet, but have to because of our world tour, the rest of my limited time passes by in the lethally depressing solitude inside my embarrassingly clean house and when my calender reminds me it's time for the Rocky Horror Picture Shows, I'm being picked up and taken to the airport before sunrise with a bunch of stuff I'd rather leave at home and a smile like a clown with his pathetic red nose when the whole crew greets me at the Starbucks near the boarding gates to fuel everyone with another dose of caffeine to make it through the flight.

I didn't listen when I was told why, so I now don't know why we're starting on the east coast and therefore the other end of the country, but I don't have the strength or willpower to ask and just accept things as disssatisfying as they are.
After a while of small talks, shallow conversations and a small group of fans spotting us because that always happens in Los Angeles, I partly regret wearing sweaters and sweatpants because I know these pictures with my vacant smile and sunken cheeks will end up on Instagram, but it's too late to change my outfit and I don't really want to anyway, and I'm even almost glad when our plane is ready for boarding  because I'll at least be able to close my eyes and ignore the world.
My head against the window and a pleasantly quiet Ashley next to me because he's wearing headphones, I rather pass out than fall asleep until my shoulder is violently shaken because we've reached our (to me unknown) point of destination.

Because we're all shaken by the jetlag after all this time we spent in L.A. working on the record (and ruining my life), everyone spends the first night in their hotel rooms instead of a restaurant and I use this surprising chance to go for a quick run.
Quick because I'm extremely tired and weak too, but I make it through a few miles.

The streets of what has turned out to be New York city are still filled with tourists, pedestrians and people going to who knows what places because this town truly never sleeps, but I shut everything out with the music playing from my own earbuds and pass by the buildings and sights without really noticing them.
The sky is black, but it's never dark here, and the cold makes me shiver, but I focus on the calories I need to burn and aren't able to see this place I actually really love and used to love visiting before I completely devoted myself to my self-destructive mission.

When I realize my legs can't carry me anymore and I black out for a few seconds again, I want to go back, but looking around, I don't have a clue where I am anymore.
Not having paid attention doesn't seem to be such a good idea anymore, but I don't mind because I have my credit card in my phone case and call a cab to get back.

It's both fascinating and shocking how dissociated I am from my surroundings.

I got used to it at home, but being here where I have so many memories of having fun at our shows and with so many people I once loved to meet, the truth returns to my consciousness, and I can't deny how unsettling it is.
I've completely distanced myself from what's happening around me and when I sit in the cab I don't really remember calling anymore, everything is like a hazy dream I can't wake up from.

I know I'm awake, but it's like a pinch in my arm could rip everything apart.
My body is so numb that nothing feels real, and the word 'alive' is something I can only recall from the pictures of my past that spin around in my head.
The way I strictly and obsessively control my eating and exercise habits keeps me on track and gives me the illusion that I'm living for something, but I can't shake this feeling that I've drifted away to a point I can't return from, and that's quite frightening to say the least.

The loud punk rock blasting into my ears is more of something very distant and far away, and the places I pass by in this strange-smelling car are like a movie I'm absently watching in the dark with my head in the clouds.
My brain knows this is my life, but it doesn't feel like mine.

When did I start to feel like I'm fading away? When did I stop feeling myself?
I can't recall the steps that brought me here and can't tell where I'm going and whether it's a good place, and my mood swings between numbness and deep depression I can't handle.
I'm standing on the edge of something I can't name, but this sense of discipline my so-called eating disorder gives me seems to be all I have left to stop me from falling off this cliff and into the nothingness.

I feel invisible and insignificant, but can't name a reason why.

And the only thing worse than the fact that I'm living without consciously noticing anything that doesn't have a nutritional value is the fact that I really don't mind any of it.
Nothing can reach me.
Nothing matters.
I don't know what's happening.

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Danzig - Last Ride