This isn’t something you just live with. You don’t wake up every morning and think, ‘I won’t eat for the day, and that’s okay.’ And when you plunge your fingers down your throat after every meal the scars that form on your knuckles remind you that you can’t even think for yourself anymore.

It is total loss of control.

Your heart is in the wrong place, the inside of your head a minefield.

but at least you’re empty, the voice says.


But the truth is, you’re just afraid. You’re so ******* afraid of what will become of you if you let that meal sit in your stomach.

Get rid of the weight so you won’t sink, you’ve got to be a featherweight to float on these tides.

The other girls don’t matter, the magazines and billboards, the unkind words written on the bathroom stall; fat. pig. ugly. ****. They don’t matter either, what’s in your head has nothing to do with the outside world, it’s all a matter of what you want, what you can’t see in yourself.

But let me tell you this;
if happiness was a number on the scale,
if joy came in a diet pill, if collarbones and rib cages
could fix the constant ache inside your chest,
if you could purge away your sins, if you could
just lose five more pounds and be happy,
you wouldn’t be here in the first place.

Things would be so simple again.
But things are not.

And I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m so ******* sorry that you hurt. I’m sorry that you’re insides twist and your head shouts those angry words at you when you’re sad.

Always sad.

But you are beautiful, my dear,
and I can’t help you **** yourself,
I don’t want you to feel this torment that I know all too well.

The last thing I want
in the whole entire world,
is to see you, be like me.

- S.G.