4 months later:
Well, they finally let my out of that hell hole. Not without making me a disgusting whale first though. Luckily Ed has been understanding. He got me a trainer to help me tone, but he forces me to eat hearty meals. I eat the 3 essential meals of the day and then a small snack of fruit or something every 2 hours. Which I don't really complain about too much because it keeps your metabolism from slowing.
I'm not so bad now. I have a toned stomach which makes it a tad better. That doesn't mean I'm magically better though. I still have massive panic attacks that Ed has to talk me down from after almost every single meal. I still fall off the wagon and make myself throw up sometimes. I still have days where I go to work out and can't stop until I wind up passing out. I still analyze every inch of my body in the mirror and I surely still hurl insults at myself. According to my counselor, the voices never really go away. You just drown them out. I don't care what anyone says. Anorexia is one of the most deadly diseases in the world. While I was in that place, 2 girls committed and 1 died from organ failure. Pretty deadly if you ask me.
~~~~~~
Ed walks in the room with a Starbucks cup and a pastry. It's 8 am. Yeah I'm still on an early schedule. Mostly because Ed thinks he can fit more snacks in if I'm up this early.
"I got you a skinny caramel latte and a slice of banana nut bread." He says coming and handing it to me. He has the same things for himself.
"Thanks." I say with a small smile. There's probably a lot of calories in this breakfast.
"I took note of all the Macros/calories already. The nutritionist wants to see all of that at the next meeting."
"How many calories?"
"I'm not telling. All of your doctors have told me I can't tell you that stuff."
I remain quiet and go back to eating. The banana bread is really good, even though i wish it wasn't. Not binging would be easier if I didn't get cravings. Especially for Starbucks. The most fattening $5 you'll ever spend.
"So Taylor you have an appointment with the nutritionist and your PR people today."
"Alright. What does PR want?"
"I'm pretty sure we're both getting booked for the Victoria's Secret fashion show next December. And they want to figure out when you're putting out 1989. By the way, when is that? I mean it's completely done."
"Well with being stuck in rehab and all, I've been a little busy." I say with a snarky tone.
"You know what Taylor I get that it's hard. I do. But you can't keep being like this. I can't take it anymore."
"YOU can't take it? How the hell do you think I feel. I know I'm being selfish, but you don't get what it's like to want to stab a knife through your chest every time you eat. You don't get what it's like to look in the mirror and hate yourself everyday. You don't get what it's like to have to hide from your boyfriend that binged and had a tiny relapse and purged. You don't get it. And you never will. Except for maybe when I wind up dead."
I don't wait for a reply. I walk off to my room and slam the door. I pace around, trying desperately to hold back the tears. If my eyes are all red and puffy when I go to my appointments today I'm screwed. I hate this disease. I hate that Ed won't understand. I hate that I yelled at Ed. I hate all of it. I hate that I may have to wait to go on tour because I don't have the stamina to preform. I hate that releasing this album that I'm so proud of will involve having to do photo shoots and music videos. I hate that my own fans are turning on me because I chose to dress in a way that makes me happy. I hate that fans are turning on me because my opinions have changed since I was 18 for goodness sake.