what a smile can hide

my friend ana (2)

food. food is something that is said to be compulsory to survival. 

but to me, it is the one thing that dares to dictate my life. 

the thing that i wish i could forget and live without. the thing that forces me to count, cry when the numbers get too big, and the thing that keeps me from attaining any sort of satisfaction. the thing that makes me wish that i was anyone else. it's the ting that i dwell on, measuring, classifying, and an equation that i can never solve. it makes me cry at night. it makes me feel so damned alone. it forces me to spend every day working, working, working, even when I don't want to. it forces me to make friends with a scale that was never friendly to me in the first place. it's a bully, a friend that wishes that i didn't exist in the first place. it is THE thing. it is everything.

—

"have you lost weight?" he asks, words brushing against the shell of my ear.

i freeze.

the relief hits first. i've lost it. i've lost it. i've lost it.

then the fear hits. he knows. he knows. he knows.

breaths speed up and paranoia sinks in.

counting. counting. counting. it started with a cup of tea. i skipped the sugar. like always. sugar is fattening. fat is the enemy. counting is my shield against a war that i never wished to fight.

then it started with skipping the snacks. then breakfast. then lunch. except dinner. my one supervised meal for the day. then I skipped the potatoes. and the bread. and the rice.

then came the tiredness. everyday. the curves that i had once loved disappearing and being replaced with protruding hip bones and collarbones (but collarbones are beauty bones so they can stay pleasedon'tleave) and bony fingers and pale skin and a fantastic figure with pretty ribs.

then it started with the pale skin and the cold toes. it was okay though. socks and make up three shades too dark for my skin worked instead. my heart started murmuring and breathing became shaky. migraines were constant, a companion to the exhaustion and confusion and the lethargy.

shaking shaking SHAKING

or is it shivering. i can't tell.

"you're so bony," he says softly. "have you been eating properly?"

i didn't know when the sobs started. but they were so potent—ones that i couldn't ignore. "sweetheart?"

i'm so tired. so fucking tired. i didn't want any of it. not the scars or the pills. or the anxiety or obsession or the disorders thoughts. i never wanted this. because when you were thirteen you didn't think about the next three years. the fact that you have four mental illnesses—one for each of the cuts that nobody ever predicted. nobody ever thinks about the failed recoveries or the relapses. because nobody wants to be a burden. nobody wants to be trapped in a prison of their own making. and i can no longer tell if it's the depression or the eating disorder but god i'm exhausted. and i don't wanna carry this anymore. i never did.

"i'm tired," i whispered. "i'm so tired." my voice is small and frail. he looks down at me as i clutch pathetically at his arm kicking bindly with my feet and looking through a blurry gaze.

"okay," he whispered, voice cracking. stupid. stupid. stupidstupidstupidsodamnedstupid.

he holds me like a child all night. even after my breaths eve out and my mind falls further than that. he presses a last kiss to my forehead, and somehow I feel it. he slips out of the room, and i stir as he shuts the door. and in the dark, i could have sworn that there were tears that shone against his skin.

Hey so I'm alive. Surprise. Sorry for the inconsistent updating but spicy sadness, social awkwardness and the sudden eating disorder relapse started trespassing on my life. I've been lacking motivation and the will to do anything so yeah. Don't be surprised if it takes ages to get the next update.