I miss the me I was at the peak of my eating disorder. She was worse than me, but more distracted. She had purpose. Talent. Control. She knew how to get through a day and she knew how to stay small. She loved the way her body was changing. Now she is small. Pushed back to the furthest corners of my mind, until I look in a mirror. Then she is quickly hushed. I miss her ideas and her thoughts. But mostly I miss how much I don't remember from being her.