04 January 2010


Hope is a fragile thing, and can easily die.







ED devours happiness and hope, taking away dreams and ambitions, leaving nothing in his wake but fear hammering at my brain. ED says, "How dare you hope?" "Forget your dreams - you'll never amount to anything!" "That will make you FAT!"

Started trolling pro-ana websites the other day, the hopeful words of New Year's Eve only a whisper. Images of oh-so-slim bodies float in my mind. Flat bellies, beautiful skin, thin, long legs. Beautiful. And in control. Like I once was.Anorexia whispers, "You were beautiful then," and I listen. I contemplate. I can become thin again.


I was not beautiful then. Stripped-down, dry skin, the smile of a skull, the eyes of the dead. Concave belly and depleted breasts. So tired that the bed and the couch were my homes.

Oh, leave me alone!

Summer days of ana, flitting around in a mini-skirt and short sleeve shirt. My eyes were closed shut, I did not see my bones. I did not - do not - see what other saw. I only saw the control I had over food and hunger, and the joy it brought me. Control unto death.

The past few days, it's been back and forth. Eat. Don't eat. Eat. Eat but just a little. Don't eat. Eat but don't eat . Eat only safe foods; make a list: yogurt, chicken, dry rice and bread (but one slice, thank you, ma'am!)

Fight with my husband. Fight with ED. I'm unable to think, to recapture the dreams and hopes of the other day. Tears flow and I look at my body, wondering what has happened.


(I am so ashamed.)

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