All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
Letter to an anorexic
Bones as fragile as dust. Hair thin as air. Taut skin, stretched like overused silly putty. White as a ghost. Is this what you want? Is this what you so desperately tried to succumb to? Is this what you asked for?
Your reasons are pitiless; I can tell it’s taking all of your energy just to form the words from your chapped lips. Anything it seems, takes all of your energy. Talking. Breathing. Living.
Look. Look at what you’ve done. Look at the pain – and no you’re not the only one hurt here. Look at them; can’t you see the pain painted across their face? Can’t you see how desperately they try, oh how they try, to make you smile? They love you like an old rag doll, and you can barely see them through your sewn on, beady eyes.
If an imperfect body reflects an imperfect person, then what does this make you? You began at imperfection – yet you will never reach that level of desired weight, no matter how far your bones jut out from your body. Your hugs mimic that of a skeleton, yet you can’t hide from the inescapable urge inside of you that will die for perfection.
Are you happy now? They get it that you’re unhappy – it’s crystal clear. Your refusal has been noticed, so does this make you happy? You never liked being the center of attention, all you wanted was for a single ounce of interest, and now you have them begging on their knees.
Enticement. Oh how they bribe you. The offers were simple at first, a little extra spending money in exchange for bites of food, but soon they become more complicated with your persistent refusal. Even illegal substances were once placed in your hands, with hopes that this would put an overbearing feeling of hunger in your stomach. As if you didn’t know what unrelenting hunger was already?
Rejection. You rejected it, and now you’re rejecting yourself. Your self esteem has sunk so low, it makes the Titanic look like child’s play; a toy boat sinking in a muddy puddle. You rejected their plans, their hopes, and their dreams. Now all that’s left is your bones, your flimsy bones. These bones don’t keep you warm now do they? But you’ve gotten used to the constant cold. Besides, doesn’t shivering burn calories?
Control. All you wanted was a sense of control. At first it was satisfying, a rush of dignity, a feeling of pride, all dashing through your veins, like fireflies to a dim light. But every feeling starts to become numb when your body is only living off water.
Reflect. Time has slipped through your fingers like sand, and now you can only look back on what you missed out on. The miles add up, but the pounds do not. Pages and pages are filled, the names of foods and their calories littering the notebooks like turtles on a sandy beach; once plentiful, but now racing toward extinction.
Is this what you want? To have any ounce of self control spiraling out of your fingertips? To not be able to feel your fingers because there’s nothing for your blood to fuel off of in order to stimulate your circulation? All they want is a confirmation of your love, so can’t you take that single bite? Would it kill you to taste it? But no, they now know what happens after you force it down your throat, and only excuse yourself to the bathroom afterwards. They know. I know. The game is over. Your fantasy has become reality, and now your only friend has become your enemy.
Your story needs to be told, but you’re incapable of letting the words form in your mouth. Your stomach is only filled with air, and this isn’t sufficient enough to fuel yourself for a conversation. But I know what you would say, I can tell what you’re thinking; “Nothing tastes as good as thin feels”, you would feebly protest. I can’t live your life, but I can tell your story – you think no one’s listening, but you can’t see what lies smack in front of you. But first, let me ask you something;
Is this what you want? Is this what you hope to be? Is this what you asked for?
Well, as long as you’re happy.