She filed her dreams in alphabetical order,
Wiping the dust from her minimalist future.
She boxed them up and piled them high,
Shrinking them to match her thighs
And the looking glass began to lie each night
Telling her the weight of her dreams
Was too heavy to fight.

You ask me, what anorexia is like.

It's like slipping or twisting your ancle without anyone seeing, no one to help you up.
You sit until someone comes by, they help you up, but after a while you slip again.
This time your sitting in mud and slowly sinking into it.
And when you're two feet into that hole, a person comes by and tries to help you since your anvle is hurt.
But you're afraid they'll fall too so you ask them to leave.
You start to crawl out and finally get up, but slip again.
You fall down in that hole again, and this time you beoke your entire leg.
It starts raining and the hole grows deeper.
It's 5 feet deep now.
One of your well known friends comes by and tries to help you, but ends up throwing you a shovel.
But actually you start to like your hole, you take contact to people, who also fell into a hole.
There are sites on the internet, some shows how to get the deepesr mist perfect hole.
Other shows how to get up.
But you're sad, and you like your hole, so you try to get that deepesr one.
You want to win this, you wanna show everyone who called you weak that you can get the deepest hole in the world.
But when you're 20 feet under ground, and everyone starts to notice your hole.
Everyone is willing to help you.
And suddenly you have 20 shovels, and 20 stairs.
But you can't decide wich one is better.
*That's what being anorexic is like

If you could see past my eyes
Into my disquieted brain
You'd think I was obsessed
Or at least a little insane
You would shake your finger at my thoughts
As I chase ribcages while caging myself
Into a world of bones and rot
I can calculate calories into a formula for happiness
Like I measure my merit with a measuring tape
And I know that "looks aren't everything"
But it looks to me like they are
Because society suggests that you "be yourself"
While screaming the importance of beauty and wealth
And we all know that ugly doesn't make it
Into the movies
Just like fat doesn't make it into the magazines
If I could look into the mirror without seeing
Distortions
Then maybe I could convince myself to eat bigger
Portions
But as the story goes, as the song is sung
Another girl loses to the battle of one
I'm at war with myself, and it's making me sick
Sick in the head; sick in the heart
I sicken myself as I'm falling apart
I hate this hollow pursuit for a hollow life
And yet I secretly starve myself
In an attempt to get it right
You might be somewhat confused
As to why I undergo this kind of beating
Yes, hunger is painful
But so is eating

Finger down your throat, thinking you might pull up all those words you've swallowed. But the words have wrapped themselves so tightly around your soul, all that comes up is pride. Pride that you swallowed when the words weren't enough.

They called her depression
Not for the way her long hair trailed limply behind her
Or for the way her boney hands shook
They called her depression
Because her empty grey eyes followed you
Because her blue nails were chipped and brittle
Because every time she brushed her hair clumps would fall out
They called her depression
Because she wasn't a girl
She was her disease
She was a ghost
She was a skeleton
She wasn't human
They called her depression
Until
One day
She said she wanted to die
"Ah, we'll call her suicidal than"
They mindlessly bobbed their heads in confirmation
Suicidal
They liked that name
They called her suicidal
Because every time her sleeve fell up
Deep scars and gashes were visible
They called her suicidal
Because her grades fell
Her ambitions fell
Her emotions disappeared
They called her suicidal
And the day she was found
Two identical slashes on each arm
Nobody was surprised
They use to call her depression
But they don't call her anything now