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Bulimia
She kneels on the cold, hard floor
Hands shaking, eyes watering
Salty tears run down her cheeks
Dripping onto her chest
And the ground on which she is planted
She looks down into the bowl
What for others is an everyday object
For her is a friend
The kind of friend that is there for you
When you need it
And is cruel and unforgiving
Even when you dont
She cranes her head forward
To get a better view
As the throughts race in her mind
She cant trace where it all started
Where this quest for thin-ness began
Maybe when her mother told her
She was not good enough
Or when her father never paid attention
To her
"Such a useless human being I am"
She thought,
"But if only I were beautiful"
And in the language of the eating disordered
Beautiful translates as thin
Shaky hands inch forward
Lightly touching the lips
Index and middle fingers
Thrust deep into the throat
Out pour all of her negative emotions
The hate, the self-disgust
Out pour all of her mistakes
The things that mattered that she gave up
She arises, walks forward
Steps closer to the mirror
"Am I good enough?"
"Am I beautiful yet?"
She ponders
As she pokes and prods at her body
While examining her reflection
What she sees in herself is quite different
Than what the reality of the mirror foretells
In her eyes
Fat covers up the potential she has
The potential for beauty
A shapeless body
A young unshaped mind
Molded by the pressures of society
In the reflection
Bones jut out in every direction
Cold, pale skin
Displaying her lack of nutrition
Fine, white hair
Covers the chest
Defined cheekbones, sunken eyes
Much past the point of beautiful
Much past the point of thin
Shes dying on the outside, dying from within
Comitting a slow suicide
But much too delusional
To know what she is doing is wrong
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