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when i was younger, a meal out at a restaurant wasn’t a weeks worth of skipping breakfast 
it wasn’t laxatives to make me feel worth something. 
since i was a child, the word fat has been used to shame people. it never hurt me, until i realised it was supposed to. so when i was called fat i took a look at myself in the mirror and didn’t see a healthy child who enjoyed three meals a day, i saw a girl who would look better with her fingers down her throat. 
i didn’t realise feeling hungry would become a thing i felt proud of, something about the cold water travelling down to the empty pit of my stomach made me feel whole. 
i began to forget all of the things i loved in life and my illness was all i thought about. 
people would comment on my weight and i became a valuable subject of conversation. “oh look at how slim her legs are” “look how much weight she’s lost on her face” 
why would i stop when my eating disorder was the most exciting thing about me. 
dinner dates with friends and movie nights turned into checking the calories on a bag of popcorn and crying when i realised i’d surpassed my daily limit.
the scales became my best friend and i wasn’t worried anymore about feeling full, i was obsessed with feeling empty
i was scared of what would happen if i picked up the fork or didn’t check how many calories were in a tomato 
binging because my support system and purging became my routine 
the illness hasn’t stopped hurting me and i’m afraid it will never stop 
but i’m more afraid that it does 
-unKnown Person

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