"Everything that falls breaks."
- Nicole
As the title says - and then I fell in love. I didn't fall in love with a person, or even a thing, exactly; I fell in love with the perpetual decline in numbers, trying to fit into zero to rid the world of my horridness to the the best of my ability. I fell in love, not with the beauty of the universe or of my own silhouette, but with becoming the kind of silhouette people are supposed to fall in love with.
Sometimes I wonder what I might have done with the time I spent clipping better versions of me out of magazines or searching the Internet for weight loss techniques or sitting at the table with an empty bowl of Rice Krispies because I only felt pretty when I was hungry.
But how could I not fall in love with my illness? I used to post pictures online of my progress and girls I'd never met would ask me how I did it, to which I'd reply "I need help" and they would say "No, you're an inspiration." I used to feel proud when I had extra room in my jeans, when my belts were too loose and I was cold on a sunny day. Maybe I was killing myself but at least I was doing it in a socially acceptable way because what better way to die than to be rewarded for doing it?
And so I couldn't help falling in love, not with someone else or something else or even myself, but with the possibility of living without existing.
YOU ARE READING
The Diary of Thin
Ficção GeralA rather informal documentation of the struggle of a perpetually downward spiral into the abyss that is an eating disorder.
