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jennifer wayland May 2014
step number one: read the book wintergirls.
tuck away every detail like you're cramming for a test.
dog-ear the pages and carry it with you like a travel guide.
decide that with your fingers and toes always icy cold for as long as you can remember,
you were destined to be a wintergirl.
reread it periodically, for inspirational purposes.

step two: download the myfitnesspal app.
use it to track every calorie you put into your body.
memorize that an oreo has seventy calories, an apple has one hundred, a cup of hot chocolate has eighty,
a bagel has two hundred seventy (a number that terrifies you),
and on and on and on.
let numbers float behind your eyes just before you go to bed,
and let them stay there as you throw off the covers to do guilty pushups and situps in your room
for twenty minutes (burning one hundred and twenty calories).
ignore the warnings shouted at you in red text
when you eat less than twelve hundred calories per day.
look at the projections it gives you for five weeks from now
with weights that seem both too small and too large at the same time.
when your net for the day hits the negatives after weeks of trying,
feel the slightest pang of satisfaction.

step three: find your "thinspiration".
make a tumblr just to look at pictures of jutting-out spines and thigh gaps and ribs.
hold your phone up next to your reflection in the mirror
and pick out everywhere your body differs from hers.
when the girls on the fitness blogs start looking too heavy for your goal,
find the eating-disorder blogs.
obsess over their bodies almost as much as you obsess over yours,
but not quite as much.

step four: begin losing weight.
imagine yourself floating away, feather-light.
imagine yourself becoming skin and bones.
imagine this as you drag your heavy body from class to class,
as your muscles waste from malnutrition.
imagine this as you have to clean your hairbrush out
three times while you work tangles from your hair.
imagine this as you snap at anyone and everyone,
as you spend hours locked in your room.

step five: become a poet and write about yourself.
romanticize your own demons, just by calling them demons.
use as many metaphors as you can,
to avoid the harsh language of the truth.
and especially avoid writing about the crippling guilt
that hits you when you eat too much,
you're fat you're worthless you'll never be anything,
and hits you when you don't eat enough,
what's wrong with you how did you let it get to this point
voices in your head never abating.
avoid writing about your lack of motivation and constant exhaustion and always,
always, use words that imply mystery.
describe your mind as foggy, call your body diminishing.
never say it how it is, because you could convince yourself to quit.
never say that it's torture and you're in pain
and you just wish you were eight again, never considering this path.
never say that you need help but you don't want help.

if you have the urge to say these things,
say only that this disorder is not one you would willingly give up,
because you finally have something to control.
because it is the truth,
but it is also the romanticized truth.
trigger warning, obviously. this just came out of nowhere the other day. apologies for how harsh/offensive it may be.
Theia Gwen  Mar 2014
Wintergirls
Theia Gwen Mar 2014
Cassie and Lia
Or Ana and Mia?
I don't know who we are anymore
Best friends or competitors?
Both fighting for a place at the morgue
As the first snow falls,
Our blood intermingles
In a pact to be the skinniest of them all
And no one else can see
That we're stuck in a blizzard
Doing anything for beauty
Icy veins and frozen hearts
Numbers shrinking on the scale
Metallic blades leaving scars
Pretty pills and bathroom stalls,
Diet coke and working out,
This is all that we are
We used to be innocent Cassie and Lia,
But when I look in the mirror
I only see Ana and Mia
Based off of the book Wintergirls by one of my favorite authors, Laurie Halse Anderson. It's about two girls struggling with eating disorders, Cassie and Lia.
"we held hands when we walked down the ginger-bread path into the forest, blood dripping from our fingers. we danced with witches and kissed monsters. we turned our self into winter-girls"

-Wintergirls by Laurie Halse Anderson
Ive read this book over and over I honestly love it
Jessica Leigh Mar 2014
"I had figured out that my eyes were broken long before that. But that day I started to worry that the people in charge couldn't see either."
Alexandria Hope Oct 2015
I want to be beautiful
I want to be bones, 90 pounds, blue
I want to be beautiful,
You'll tell me I'm beautiful when I'm dead, won't you?
Like when it was dawn, covered in fog,
Like when they cut you down, dressed you up, showed you off,
Like when they wrote you stories,
And you were beautiful,
And you were beautiful,
I wanted to be like you,
Tell me how to be just like you
I want to be beautiful,
I want to be with the pretty dead
Don't bother bringing flowers,
They're all here in my head
And you can press me between
the leaflets of my awful poetry
I want to be written down
I want to feel my blood running out
Don't kiss me if I have no pulse
My pulse is bruising my neck
to the point where I can't breathe
I want to be
Oh I want to be
So dress yourself up in a brocade vest
Take me to church, put me up in a pine pew
Give me a wake, I'll rise at midnight
And I'll be addicted to you,
I'll be addicted to you
Murphy Lynne Sep 2014
Winter girls
I'm a winter girl
I don't know
What you are doing
Is evil
Go away
Go away
Lyss Brianne Aug 2018
You begged me to save you
So I cracked myself open
I unzipped my skin and stepped out of my body
I allowed you to inhabit me, use me for shelter
I’ve always been the person people climb into when they need to be saved

The worst part of swallowing you whole was the stomach ache
You were too much for my body to handle
Soon after you abandoned me in the middle of the night  

The hardest part was trying to fit back into my skin again
You stretched it out and now it’ll forever feel too big
My body is a hand me down I’ll never fully fill out
It’s been five years but I still feel like a thief in a strangers house
Unsure if I’ll ever get to come home

— The End —