I don't know who I am without her.
Before Ana I was a child and in the in be tweens  been fighting to get away.
                 But who does that make me?
First child.
Then starving hatred.
With dashes, small sprinkles of wanting recovery.
               Wanting Salvation, but knowing nothing other than how to hate and how to punish because I've forgotten what it is to be a child.
Now I know how to starve better, to be hungry longer.
I know How to please her, which is how I please myself.
             But does that really make me happy?
             Is this what I was meant to do?
Was I meant to live inside the cage of my mind, doomed to this suffering?
   For what?
      To reach my ideal of bones?
What does this make me?
           Who would I be without her?
                 How would I live without these guidelines?

I could feel my decline.
I could hear the call.
I could feel my grip loosen and hers tighten.
So I did something I should have done a while ago.
I left...

She is a monster in the back of my head.
Every bite of food fills me with dread.
“Don’t eat that, you’re already so fat.”
“0 calories a day will make your stomach flat.”
She comes to me in my dreams,
So sickly, so thin.
Her name is Ana.
She is the demon within.
She will pretend to be your friend
Just to get inside your head;
And she will hold on tight.
She will cover you in darkness.
She will mock you out of spite.
She does not forgive.
She does not forget.
Letting her in will be your biggest regret.

I met a girl named Ana
What a sweet girl she was
Until she made her way into my brain
And said
Stop eating, your brain will rot
I believed
and I didn't eat
Ana is no longer sweet
And she is the reason I won't eat
Because Ana told me skinny is better
And that's what killed me.

Dizzying intoxication,
torturous obsession,
what could a fourteen-year-old know about addiction?

It never stops,
for one,
it's like an ugly mythological cyclops,
with an eye only for a prize,
wishing it had two eyes,
so it could see more of the world.

Dizzying intoxication,
torturous obsession,
hooked on clenching jaws,
riding on the high of fixing each of the wicked flaws,

Who said that this is not an addiction?
A terrifying one, but maybe they all are...
Addicted to pain of emptiness, both physical and mental,
leaving nasty scar upon nasty scar.

I regret falling to the addiction,
of sick and thin,
but like I said, I'm here to win,
so I'll succumb to addiction...

My head spins,
As I lie down.

I stare at the ceiling,
Feeling light,
Weightless.

And sick.

Gathering strength,
I lift myself from my bed,
And carry myself to the bathroom.

In the mirror,
I see a whale.

Despite so long of holding back desire and cravings,
What i see is still the same,
And it will never change.