Raw Emotions

Waistline (PWC)

There she is.
The stranger that I know and love,
Laying beside me after such a long time.
She is ever present during the days, but my nights have been lonely for a while now.
I became so used to sleeping alone that my smaller than single bed started to feel roomy.
How naive of me to believe that she would leave me to rest.
I walked into my room, met with the instant feeling of neglect and heaviness.
She makes the monster in the dark less scary, because she reminds me there is no point in panicking because I'm going to die anyway.
With her hand pressed against my cheek she asks me why I'm trying to live again, my empty carcass too decayed away to remain human without collapsing. Her hand is colder than theirs, the fingertips chilled and her knuckles protruding like mountains. I hold onto the warmth.
I tell her my reasons to wake up in the morning and for a second I think she's smiling. Then I notice that she's scowling and I'm reminded of all her sharp edges.
My hands slide down her sides, my small fingers getting caught on every one of her ribs, her hips poking against her skin so much I fear they might break through.
She copies my movements, her hands running over me like she's inspecting. I ready myself for the comments.
She frowns at me, tells me im slacking before pinching the fat on my sides. I suddenly remember the chocolate I ate earlier and start to feel sick.
She reads through my mind like a book, listing what I've eaten.
She cringes at every item, food becoming numbers before my very eyes, an apple no longer being an apple but 60 or 30 minutes of sit ups or jumping jacks, an hour of walking. The calculator in my brain fires up and I try and quiet it.
I tell her that I've been called beautiful lately and I've started to enjoy food and it's not as bad as it looks but my arguments fall like dust in the grave that is my chest.
She laughs lightly and I wonder if happiness has any calorie values I am unaware of, does it come at a price?
She reminds me of all the compliments I used to get, people smiling at me on the street, the feeling of cold water on an empty stomach and taking mints to mask the decay of my insides. She reminds me of collarbones that could catch rainwater, delicate bones around a cup of green tea, the feeling of control.
She tells me that skinny overrules beauty and I start to eat the insides of my mouth to quell my sudden hunger. I think of her and quench my stomach with smiles and laughs, all the nutrients that comes with love.
The stranger looks at me, hands on my fat covered hips, and tells me that she would much prefer to hug a smaller me, much prefer to put an arm around skinny shoulders, I would take up less food and therefore less money. She says that smaller hands feel better to hold. She tells me that people love skinny girls more.
I want to suffocate, my desire to destroy her aimed at myself and I know that I will be on a diet of water and half a sandwich, save whatever is given to me for later, nibble small sections off and talk more than i eat.
Because suddenly.... I want collarbones that could catch rainwater.

Worrying is good for my waistline so I will make nervous habits with my mind, track everything no matter what and when I lose inspiration i will stretch up and place my hands on my sides and grab handfuls of mass. If I can grab it I can lose it.
I know this is unhealthy, and I know this is dangerous and horrific. The disgust from knowing that I am scared to brush my teeth because the taste of blood is more prominent than that of toothpaste and it always leaves me with a toothache and loose teeth.
I know that I will watch myself decay and people will break around me, I will end up alone from the pressure these things will put on them, they will leave me. I know that I will wake up like I did a few years ago, with the feeling of nausea creeping through my system because I haven't eaten anything but dinner for months and I know that I will sit up and find my hair on the pillowcase, my body unable to maintain anything apart from survival.
I know this.
But I can't not look in the mirror and see the fat everywhere, it clings to me and I wish I could find myself beautiful, I wish I could love myself. But the only time I ever feel beautiful is when I'm hungry and it's getting worse and i am scared.
Worrying is good for my waistline.
I will have collarbones that are worthy of raindrops.

I hold my love close to my chest and repeat again and again.
I am worthy of life. I am worthy of love. I am worthy of food.
This will pass.
I am beautiful.
I try to remember it, even if I can't believe it.