Dizzy, lightheaded, disoriented, sick, light, lose lose lose.
Oh you think those are bad?
No.
They're good. It means I'm getting closer.
"Closer?"
To my goal of course.
See, you wouldn't understand. You wouldn't understand the utter euphoria from starvation. No. You wouldn't understand feeling as light as a feather. You wouldn't understand the sensation of almost passing out, and toughing through it. You wouldn't understand the pure guilt and urge to purge after eating an almond. You wouldn't understand the beauty of bonespo.
"Why?"
Because you've never experienced it. You've never had to suffer through what I've went through. You've never purposefully starved yourself for days on end to be beautiful and in control. I have control of my body. I can, and I will, make it thinner.
"Why?"
Because I hate my appearance. My gross, disgusting obese body. Covered with repulsive scars, under eye circles, and acne. I hate walking past a mirror and seeing all of this suffocating fat jiggling. I hate how noisy it is. I hate how BIG it makes me.
"Why?"
I desire to be thin. I want to be beautiful... No... Perfect. I want to see my ribs protrude from my perfectly flat stomach. I want my hipbones to stab anyone who decides to sit next to me. I want my collarbones to be sharp and able to hold water, like a miniature bathtub. I want my wrists to be dainty and boney. I want a gap between my thighs, and I want only my thigh gap to be the biggest thing on me.
"Why?"
Because that's what I need.
"Why?"
Stop asking.
"Why?"
....
"Why?"
Are you really going to keep asking why? I already told you. I hate myself.
"Why?"
Because I'm a screw up. I'm a jiggly whale. I am a mistake. I am the most disgusting human alive. If I were thinner, I'd be happy. I'd finally do something right.
"How?"
Well usually when I set a goal, I fail. I am prone to failure. Always have been. You see, if I were thin....
If I were my ultimate goal weight....
I'd be so happy. I would finally do something right. I would win. I would be dainty, small, and an idol.
"Why?"
I want to look sick. I need to look sick.
"Why?"
Because... Maybe if I looked sick enough, someone would finally realize I need help. But I'm not sick enough. If I were, I'd already be 70 lbs.
"You are sick enough."
No. I need validation. I need a sign. I need to pass out. I need to look dead. I need to be 70 lbs. I need to not look healthy. I need clumps of hair to fall out. I need my nails to be brittle. I need new hair to grow all over me because I'm so sick that I can't keep myself warm.
"Would you be happy?"
Of course! I'd finally get help, because then I'd need it. Well, maybe. I'd adore my new slim figure. I'd adore my size 18 waist. I'd finally have what I want.
"Why don't you just get help now?"
Because. I'm not sick enough.
"Yes you are."
No.
I'm never sick enough.
