Castles crumbling (Taylor Swift's little sister)

My cheeks are growing tired

You were doing your best: studying hard at school, focusing on actually learning and getting excellent grades; being a great sister and a great daughter; leading a social service project at school; and, of course, trying hard in recovery. You were doing everything to keep those around you happy, recovery made your family happy and that's why you did it, because you weren't still convinced that you wanted to get better. To some extent, the only thing you enjoyed was seeking perfection: you enjoyed being the perfect student, getting an excellent grade was always awesome, but the joy only lasted a few seconds until you started worrying about the next thing you needed to be excellent in. The truth was that you felt so empty, so hopeless. Everything you did, didn't make you happy, didn't make you even feel worthy of love and care. Everything you did, you did it because at some point in your life you convinced yourself that it was going to make you feel enough, worth it and okay. But it didn't, you never felt good enough; you never felt like you were doing everything in your control to be the best you could. No one expected you to be perfect, they just wanted you happy, but even in that, you were failing because you were miserable.

You were terribly scared of eating but did it anyway because it made everyone happy. Yet, you feared that one day you were going to start eating and never be able to stop, you felt so empty that you feared that one day you were going to try to fill the void with food. That thought kept crippling in and made you anxious and unsteady. The fear quickly started to become too much to bear and without even noticing it, you started to restrict again. You spent your days thinking about which the best way was to shrink yourself to the smallest possible, because, maybe that way you were going to feel worth it; and if not, at least you were going to die at some point anyway. You were so tired but were terrified of asking for help.

Everyone around at school was planning on their futures: what college to go, what degree, where to live, where to get a job at. But you? You kept waiting for the smallest near event that gave you hope and a will to live. You felt stuck. Your only concern was what you were going to eat; how would you get rid of it and when; how were you going to feel if you didn't exercise enough, if you took the elevator at school instead of the stairs to burn more calories; the only thing hope that you had was that the scales showed a lower number each time that you stepped on it. You felt stuck in every possible way and did everything you were supposed automatically.

That was the thing about you: even when you just wanted everything to stop, you would still get up in the morning (even after spending all night studying or crying). You would still get up and force your body to move to the bathroom, undress and shower. You would still force yourself to brush your teeth, get into your uniforms and brush your hair. No matter how dark and hideous your mind was, you would still fake a smile and greet and kiss your mom and your sister every morning. You would go to school and be the good girl: the one that always did homework, the one that greeted everyone politely, the one that participated in every activity that she was allowed, the one that raised her hand and had the right answer to the teacher's questions, the one that was nice to everyone and helped everyone around.

And it was weird, because the more that you restricted your intake, the more that you thought about food and exercise, the more perfect you felt. You were thriving at everything, or so your thought, because every time you stepped on the scales, it did show a lower number, even if it was just a decimal. Yet, no one could tell how much you were struggling because you had gotten so good at faking, you were hiding food, chewing and spitting, throwing it away. You were exercising at school hiding in the bathrooms and following a cardio routine every single night when everyone was sleeping. You restricted, counted calories and fixate on numbers and every time you saw the number go down, you would feel a tiny thing light up inside you. Each time you were able to hide food, to throw it away, you felt that high that you loved. You felt in control. But that wonderful feeling would only last for a little while, because it always rapidly turned into anxiety: how long will I be able to fast until I need to eat before worrying mom and Taylor? Will tomorrow the scales show a lower number? It was never enough; YOU were never enough.

One day you looked at the mirror and didn't recognize the girl you saw: you were miserable. You didn't know how, but this needed to stop. You couldn't keep going like you were. You were desperately picking at your body in front of the mirror while crying, wanting someone to find you and save you, because you couldn't save yourself.

THE END.