nothing else but my heart's desire [COLLECTION] | FINISHED

Thin - ORIGINAL PROSE

Written on my body, marked on my skin by years of wear, abuse, I see it so clearly, though my wary mind can only admire the sickly beauty in bruised skin, in sunken eyes, in bones as they stick out beneath thin layers of skin; my skin is pale, unnaturally so, from years of shielding myself from the bliss of sunlight, from fresh air and relief from the burdens of the mind, as the wash away, as though I am a flower, small, wiltering, struggling to survive against all odds through the brutality of winter, only to thrive in the first days of spring, as the cold air finally subsides and the sunlight - warm and inviting - finally finds its way back to me. Beneath layers of warm clothing, I struggle to find comfort, I struggle to feel anything besides doubt and an itch in my mind, coupled with the shadow of anxiety which I close my eyes to, as it looms over me forevermore. My hands shake, I drink caffeine and hope it all subsides, I wish for relief, for release from the icy cold grip of ill health and sadness, fuelling my poor decisions, pushing me ever closer to the brink. I hoped, to lose weight and admire the sickly shadow of a person in the mirror would allow me to feel at peace, for I were finally like all the girls I had seen in the world, who had everything I could not obtain, who were everything I could never be, but instead I was only met with looks of concern, worried frowns as though I had already fallen so far. How could they not see the beauty in my fallen state, how I felt so proud of the small number I had come to associate with perfection and the effects it had had on my body? But somewhere, though I dared not give it voice or attention, something inside my ill mind were always there to remind me of how I could barely stand, how I grew weaker, how I felt the faint dizziness always associated with my condition every time I rose to my feet, how I craved everything and nothing, my world fading to black and white, all or nothing, with my every action, every interaction, every thought, every feeling? And I look at the food I eat, at the food I wished to eat, after so many years of falling short when the number rose and fell along with my self esteem, I had grown tired of wishing for love, learning instead the age-old sentiment that if something needed to be done correctly, I must do it myself. To love one's self is a tall order, but I could live with myself most days, and this made all the difference in the years which followed; I had learned to love the sun, and I also learned I loved the freshness, the abundance of fruit and vegetables, whilst also loving the richness of chocolate, throwing my fears aside, instead indulging in all things I had hated because I couldnt eat what I wanted. And why? To what end? After all, I am just an average girl, not a model, I can only live for myself.

Even models eat chocolate.