I used to tell myself how unfair my situation in life was. How unfair it was that I had an eating disorder. How unfair that I fell from grace faster than I had risen to it.

Now that I look back, I think my behavior towards myself was more unfair than anything else.

I was a defeatist too often, and a bully to myself even more so. I constantly returned to my kitchen whenever I felt down, and binged too frequently to count.

I was my own worst enemy.

Today I had a small binge. I had been doing pretty well for the past week, and my resolve crumbled to resemble the crumbs that remained in the pan of brownies I attacked after school a few hours ago.

I am doing better, and I'm fairly optimistic about tomorrow.

I just don't know how many more too-small articles of clothing I can handle.

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