ED

wingedpiglets:

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

i’m getting bad again.
there’s no room under
my skin,
there’s too much of me
to be beautiful.
i’ll never fit into a box,
i’m not perfect enough.
i’m too much
of the wrong things
to be loved.

of what value am i
if i want to cry
every time i look at myself?
i see excess
in every limb. i am a waste
of space, i should not be taking
up so much.

relapse // a.s.m

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.

things you don’t see in “thinspo” photos // a.s.m

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.

Dark

It devours me
from the inside out; pulling
me under the surface, and I’m
too tired to resist.
It’s weight comforts me
like a blanket and lulls me into
a sleep I wish to never wake from.

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