The value of my existence has been
stripped down to a figure.
Input. Output.
I waste away into numbers until all I am is
the addition and subtraction
of nutrients. Of calories and carbs and fats and proteins.
I have pushed myself
out and left
an empty shell
Tag: bulimia
THINGS YOU DON’T SEE IN THOSE ‘THINSPO’ PHOTOS: self-hatred that weighs far more than any number on a scale. vomit stains on your favorite crop top. hating food but being able to think of nothing else. taking four hours to go grocery shopping because you have to read every goddamn label. your partner fearing their fingertips will break you. running in the park but being so focused on your heart rate monitor that you don’t admire the way the leaves are changing. hunger. HUNGER. HUNGER so deep it hurts. nausea. fainting when you stand up to give a presentation in class. always keeping Altoids in your purse. storing laxatives in the kitchen cabinet because you can’t go without them anymore. emptying your stomach to ignore the emptiness elsewhere. numbers. numbers. you never even liked math but now everything is numbers. everyone is numbers. getting high just so you can eat food and not feel guilty. feeling guilty anyway. hating yourself. self-hatred like boulders in your backpack. self-hatred that weighs far more than any number on a scale.
ED
I’ll be doing fine.
I’ll be able to stand on the scale and see the number and be okay.
I’ll look in the mirror and love what I am, not hate what I am not.
but then.
But then I eat something
and all of a sudden I am
larger than life; I am too big
for my clothes, too big to
be loved, too big for myself.
and then
i want to be gone.
i want to be anyone or anything
but who i am.
i want to shrivel up and
die
because my self hatred weighs
on me
far heavier than the number on the scale,
and it is too goddamn big.
the hopelessness that
i will forever have this body
that i hate is suffocating
me.
let
me
suffocate.
All I See Of Souls Are Their Bodies
Less
less
less
I can always do more
to eat less—to feed
the insatiable
hunger for starvation,
the challenge to be
stronger.
No is my power,
my strength, my protection.
I am strong when I say no.
More
more
more
I can always do more
to see less—less fat,
less thigh, less stomach,
less arm, less cheek.
More beautiful, beautiful bone.
The Monster
the squeak of my shoes
the tap of my pencil against the page
even the sound of my breath:
in-out in-out in-out,
eat-less eat-less eat-less.
ED
The value of my existence has been
stripped down to a figure.
Input. Output.
I waste away into numbers until all I am is
the addition and subtraction
of nutrients. Of calories and carbs and fats and proteins.
I have pushed myself
out and left
an empty shell