Renovation
I spent my teenage years living out that dream in which you are behind the wheel of a car you have forgotten how to drive, and it’s rolling steadily towards an impact that you can’t avoid.
Bulimia had cut the strings that held my identity to my body. I would look at photos of myself, and wonder who that was wearing my clothes, hugging my friends, living me without me. I felt growingly distant from my own reflection, in a way I find difficult to describe. My eating disorder was a desperate attempt to regain control of a body that I had forgotten how to inhabit. I ached for control. My “real body” I thought, was hidden from sight within this soft and weak girl’s form that I had not asked for.
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