Insecure.
Heavy tw: This is about eating disorders! Also suggestions of self harm.
The scars on my legs. Climbing up to the thighs I try so desperately to thin. A âstomachâ, which is just a uterus. That I think, if I starve enough, will shrink and disappear. My ribs, that you canât quite see all the time. But if I breathe in enough, they are there. A sign of failure. My neck. That from a certain, very specific angle, when I look down, could maybe, possibly, be considered a double chin, to some people. But only if you squint. Fat.
Iâm fat.
My puppyâs teething. Which means he bites. He tries to grab my arms a lot. I feel his mouth wrapped around my bones. Thereâs no fat there. No muscle. Just skin. Skin and bone.
I find this reassuring. Like, Iâm doing well. Itâs sick. I know itâs wrong. Itâs dangerous. What I see isnât real. Iâm ill. Yet I canât help but feel achievement when my mum says I look skinny. I know itâs because sheâs worried. And itâs not okay. But I strive for it. It means itâs working.
I get compliments from strangers. They ask how I get my figure to look so good. Of course I lie. Tell them itâs diet and exercise. But it makes me proud. Like Iâm doing something right. I strive for it. It means itâs working.
I donât even feel hungry anymore. There no pain of an empty stomach. And the numbers are going down. Weight dropping. Measurements lowering. Itâs working.
But itâs not enough yet. I still look fat. My thighs are still too thick. I still have a âstomachâ. You canât see my ribs yet. Sometimes I might have a double chin in some peopleâs opinion. But only when they squint. Iâm still fat.
So I will starve. I will make my mum worried. Not because I want her to be, but because it means itâs working. I will lie to strangers who compliment my figure. Not because Iâm a liar, but because it means itâs working. And, hopefully, soon, it will be enough.
I wonât be fat.
