CONTENT WARNING: Eating disorder/Allusion to self harm
Anorexia is skin and bone. It’s the pull of a tape measure around my waist; chest; thighs; neck. It’s being tangled in a web of measurements with no way out. The tape measure snakes around my throat, over my mouth, and across my eyes. I see, breathe, smell, touch and taste the numbers. Without them, I am nothing. I pull tighter and tighter but it’s never enough. The number is never small enough. The tape measure cuts through my skin, chafing, burning, but its never tight enough. There is too much flesh. Always too much flesh.
With a shallow breath I step on the scales, not wanting to look at the figure at my feet, but not being able to focus on anything else. The number is everything. It’s not small enough; never small enough. I take off my underwear, but it’s not enough. Desperation takes over, and I grab at my hair. I take the small pair of nail scissors from underneath the sink and cut. I cut away pieces of myself, willing the number at my feet to shrink.
Anorexia is a friend that I never wanted. It’s a friendship built on manipulation, lies and insults. It’s poisonous. She whispers in my ear, morning, noon and night; when I step on the scales or wrap the tape measure around my flesh. Her acidic words burn through my self esteem until there’s nothing left but ashes. I long to build new friendships, but I can’t separate myself from her. Through every hurtful word, every sneer, taunt, and gibe, my obsession with her grows. She consumes me, and I let her.
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