You say you love my short nails; they show I’m not high maintenance.

You say you love the way I nibble my food, like my brain is exploring other worlds and is too preoccupied to focus on chewing.

You say you love how I don’t wear a lot of eye makeup; you’ve always liked the natural look.

You say you love how I’m constantly daydreaming; books are envious of my imagination.

You say you love me for me, for everything I am, and everything I do.

However, you don’t know that I keep my nails so short so that they don’t scratch the back of my throat when I purge.

You don’t know that I nibble on my food because I’m terrified to open my mouth more than half an inch or I’ll stuff my face and fill myself with shame.

You don’t know that I don’t wear too much makeup in case it runs while I’m throwing up and you notice.

You don’t know that my eyes are just unfocused because I don’t have the energy to keep up with the world around me after fasting for four days.

You don’t know that you don’t love me for me or any of the things you think I do.

You love me for everything I don’t tell you.