There are times when I see another person inhabiting an existence that I once did that makes me doubt where I am. I start to feel solid, grounded and present. The idea of wanting or owning that is so different then the reality of living with it. Wanting it makes me want to grasp on to freedom; with planting myself firmly this world I am saying that I want to be part of life. The reality though twists into an illusion, and this image of this untouchable perfection comes to mind, that with less of me, with less space that I take up I will finally become acceptable and if not acceptable able to slip away into nowhere.
Yet I have to remember that there is nothing pretty about anorexia, that starvation eats and kills your insides, devours every shed of your personality and in turn makes you into someone that you were never supposed to be, a person that you don’t like very much.
It’s all a lie, this disorder is a lie but it whispers to you things of beauty, and that’s how it pulls you back in. Promises to love you whilst it smothers you.