*TRIGGER WARNING*
I am a prisoner to the scales.
I expect many people know what I mean.
It's better now.
At least a bit.
It's more like I've been put on a leash.
I'm not a prisoner, but I'm not free.
I weigh myself maybe once a day, or once every other day.
It used to be about 3-4 times a day.
At first I was weighing in at about 56kg (123lb), which, for a 15 year old girl who is nearly 6 foot tall, isn't really very much.
Then it went down.
I loved it going down.
I felt in control.
So
Much
Control
The scales weren't my enemy.
They were my friend.
Something I could control.
Every time my weight went down, I felt this rush of happiness.
After a while, I was down to 50kg (110lb), which was quite underweight for someone my height.
My lowest weight was, I think, 48kg (106lb).
I loved being that thin.
I loved it so much.
I could see the bones.
I liked the bones.
It made me happy to see them.
It was an obvious sign of how thin I had become, and I loved it.
I could see every rib, on both my front and back.
You could clearly see my spine poking out of my back.
My arms looked like twigs.
I felt happier.
But still, I wasn't quite happy.
My goal was more.
Or less.
Whichever you think it should be.
It was always more.
It could never be enough.
I could be dead and it still wouldn't be enough.
YOU ARE READING
Skinny Girl
Acak*TRIGGER WARNING* Please don't read this if you have suffered (or are suffering) with an eating disorder. It's not good for you, and I don't want to hurt you. I do NOT encourage any of this behaviour. I know how awful it is, but sometimes you just...
