*DISCLAIMER* This entry may be triggering. I DO NOT do or think of these things in real life, and I certainly DO NOT wish to provoke thoughts of suicidal kids/teens/adults. Please do not get any ideas from this story. You are you, and that's perfect. :) Enjoy! (National Suicide Prevention Lifeline-1-800-273-8255)
Don't look at me. Don't speak to me. Don't listen to the words I speak, if any. Leave me alone, as I have always been. Please, do this Earth a favor and allow me to wither. When I am no longer here, Ana will strike my oppressors with the guilt and fear they'll deserve to feel- guilt of provoking my thoughts and attempts of suicide, and fear of my absence cursing the ground they walk on. But until then, I guess all I have is Ana. She understands. She knows what it feels like to be tormented and judged by others thinner and prettier than I. She understands my problems, my goals, and even the pressure to be perfect. Ana encourages me to prove to myself that I have self-control, that I have control of my food cravings, not the other way around. She tells me how fat I'd get if I ate that slice of pizza, or that ounce of chocolate. Ana constantly reminds me what I'd look like at that beautiful 60 pounds. She gives me a visual of the collarbones I could trace, the ribs I could count, the tiniest waist, the flattest stomach, the visible hip bones, the v-line, the thin limbs, and to sum it all up- the widest, tallest thigh gap this world has ever seen. When I look in the mirror, all I see is ugliness all over, and I think of what I'd look like Ana's dream body. Pure perfection.
As of now, I have to suck in my stomach and try to cross my legs wherever I go. "Why did you ever let yourself become such a pig? You're so stupid. How many calories was that gum? Your clothes are too tight, you're getting fatter. You gained a pound from that cookie you ate yesterday, you should skip dinner. Starve on, fattass." Ana always scolds me, but I know she's just trying to help. She condones me to slice off all of my fat rolls, so there are scars all over my body (the "I'm cold" excuse to wear long clothes didn't work too well last summer when I did, though). The toughest times not to eat are when I get home from school, surrounded by the enemy, food, and during dinnertime when my parents don't let me go to my room until I finish all of my food. That's usually when I make my nightly rounds in the upstairs bathroom with Mia. Ana tells me success stories of the people she had helped become perfect, and that if I continue to starve on, I can be perfect, too. I just wanna hear those words, "Wow, you've lost a lot of weight! You look amazing!" And see the look on my tormentors' faces when they kept telling me I couldn't do it. Tears stream down my face, just thinking about what I could look like versus what I look like now. Ana sends a wave of images of perfect girls through my mind before I shiver into a deep sleep- my tears drying, my stomach grumbling. Shut up, stomach, you're just bored, I remind myself. Ana gives me her deadly kiss each night before I go into my hopefully endless slumber.
