135.
132.
130.
126.
123.
120.
115.
111.
109.
106.
102.
99.
she dropped weight. she weighs exactly 99 pounds. this would be healthy if she was short. but nooo... she's tall. she doesn't like the math involved with calculating normal weight for her height and age.
she looooves counting calories, though. counting the seconds, minutes, hours spent exercising. counting one, two, twelve, twenty seven, two hundred sit-ups. counting five, ten, seventy, two thousand, five thousand meters erged. all ready?
numbers, numbers, numbers...
to her, they're almost as good as words.
she remembers two kings arguing about the importance of ABCs and 123s in one of her favorite childhood books, one where the cover's torn away by wear and tear and the pages are dog eared due to the absence of bookmarks.
books are oh so lovely.
she keeps a record book. proof she's making progress. it hides beneath the floorboards, beneath her mask of happiness, beneath the web of lies she's worked so hard to maintain.
in this same childhood book, she remembers two princesses, rhyme and reason, with lovely hair and thin as twigs.
she can be a princess, too.
just a bit more, you're almost completely gone...
it's fitting, really. this all-consuming emptiness. it swallows her whole, leaving her with nothing and nobody. she's drowning in it.
empty stomach, empty heart, empty soul.
no empty mind here, i'm afraid.
it's filled to the brim with lovely little death wishes and sugarcoated lies that make it all seem okay, even when
it's not
it never was
it never will be
okay.
she's lost, right?
she took a wrong turn at the fork in the road and instead of taking happy street where clouds are cotton and people are kind and sweet and oh so loving, she took sad alley, where the asphalt burns the bottoms of her feet and people are cruel and harsh and oh so oh so truculent.
i can do it i can do it i swear i'll be good...
but that's not enough, is it?
suck it up, ignore the ache that's clawing out your insides. suck it up, ignore that gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach. suck it up, sweetheart, and stick two fingers down your throat. that's right, get rid of those fatty french fries you just had to have...
i'll be alright, won't i, ana?
of course you will, sweetheart...
of course she will.
36 pounds and counting...
____________________________________
Sorry for not posting sooner, I've had a lot on my mind...
If you are struggling with an ED, get help.
Please.
YOU ARE READING
Dead Butterflies
Short Story****TRIGGER WARNING**** This is written for a boy who never cared and for a girl I used to know I'm a dying butterfly in love with a beautifully broken soul But it never made a difference to my fragile little wings I thought I would get over it but...
