She presses her bony back up against the wall and crouches into a ball.
The pain she feels inside is too horrible to hide.
Everyone can see it, she’s ashamed of how she looks.
But the illness wails on.
It tells her she’s not smart enough.
Not good enough to be loved.
You? You’re a sick freak, how could anyone like you?
You made a mistake? Now wallow in regret as it gnaws at your very core.
A year ago there certainly is nothing you wanted more.
Than to be a bit lighter, like those other girls.
Like the athletic girl you used to be.
No more sweets, no more food luxuries.
Perpetual restriction is the key.
At first, others commented on the body she attained.
Until she continued on and on, until barely anything remained.
Desperate for some help, she held on for dear life.
As her parents endlessly convinced her, in the future there’d be less strife.
She lived as a zombie for months and months on end.
Restriction, self hatred, and hopelessness, filled the thoughts in her head.
You ate a bit of dessert? You broke your cardinal rule.
All you wanted is to lose some weight, but look at you, you fool.
Now she lives with the constant reminders, of the horror that occurred.
Her hair, thin and brittle, dry as straw.
Her skin, yellowed and bruised, scarred from the pain within.
Her all too thin appearance, makes her not want to be touched.
She fears intimacy, and letting others feel her cold hands.
Yet when she goes to eat, that demon is stuck on replay.
Remember how you hated yourself? Don’t ***** up your intake.
A loss of control is a loss of self worth. Which you barely have anyways.
Perfect your food intake and you can escape that dreadful regret.
You’re broken, so broken.
Yet out of the sobs and trembling, the girl utters a phrase
“My strength emanates from my cracks, which will cover them
and cure my haze”
