My dad used to have a truck with the passenger side speakers blown out, and I vividly remember listening to possum kingdom by the toadies on repeat Swooning in the loud rumble of the speakers succumbing to the immense base making a distinct sound for each drop, driving in cars with working speakers and hearing the song just isn’t the same
Funny how nostalgia works
Making you miss the things you once dreaded

As the months grow farther from the times You couldn’t stand alone and would shake at the knees
You begin to forget what life was life before you caught the “skinny disease”
That overwhelming need to restrict what you eat, limit the water to reduce bloating
Your daily dance with the scale
The portions that seem to grow smaller and smaller
Until you eventually get to a level point
Where you feel “okay” and you stay on routine
That routine is engraved in your brain
It is ALL you know
Wake up, step on the scale, shower, drink one glass of water, pass the time doing small things or laying in bed to conserve your already minimal energy
and after months of slowly growing into yourself again it hits you
The portion sizes that never got bigger, the now weekly trips to the scale as if that’s any better
The consistent twirling in the mirror to check every angle every potion a person could possibly see you in determining am I still thin?
And you realize you didn’t get past this at all, you let it grow into who you are, and that’s why no one knows
After so long the things you needed to hide came out and no one noticed, they congratulated you, asked for dieting tips, and as you lied through your teeth you were disgusted at the shell you’ve become
And at that point is when you can
Finally move on.

How long does it take until the repetitive action of doing something
No longer becomes special
And how do we know who pushed it over the edge