Dear Ana,
I'm sorry. I didn't mean to eat. I didn't mean to ignore you and fill my body with that awful food. I understand why you called Mia; I know I deserved to puke up everything but my soul and only because that just wouldn't come up. I have no energy left to fight you; I'm so tired of trying to ignore you. So I hand over my life to you, Ana, though I know you won't care. You'll be happy if I lost those 5 pounds right? Those last 10 too? 20, that's too much, but you say I'll become just like you. And yes, Ana, that's what I want. To be perfect and in control; all skin and bones. So, all right, I'll do it, to hell if I die. Being skinny is much better than being alive, right?
Dear Everyone Else,
Okay, so I'm naïve and follow Ana blindly, my hopes and dreams pushed to the side for the sake of mere image. Yes, I still want to be a doctor- but imagine how amazing I'd look at 80 pounds in my lab coat. That's sick, you say, and I know it is deep down inside. I'm killing myself for the sake of pride. But it's hard, you see, to be like you. Eating 2000 calories a day is sickening. If 3500 calories equals a pound and you eat more than that in 2 days, who's the unhealthy one now? I calorie count, I throw up (sometimes), I never eat 2000 calories a day- but why does that make me sick; diseased? A 'healthy weight' is just another term for fat. Underweight. Yes. That's what I aim to be. Double digits is so much better than three. I wish that people could weigh zero pounds, to see that scale LED light flashing the number 0 would be heaven. Instead it comes with a 1 in front if it and a 6 after it. It disgusts me, not that you much care. You just want me locked away, being force fed daily. What about my happiness? I'm happy when I'm hungry, just like fat people are happy when they eat. Yet, you don't lock them away. I eat too little, they eat too much- aren't we both 'diseased' then? And if you truly wanted me to eat, world, why show me models on every ad, billboard, and commercial, and then show me food in the next? Why are you so screwed up world, to tease me like that? Show me how I could look and then show me what makes me fat? You make it so hard to find a happy medium.
Dear Me,
I hate you. You're smart, yes. You can even be pretty, at times. But you are not skinny. And not perfect. I try so hard, so very hard to be even though I know that no one is. I could be that first perfect person, I tell you daily. Wrong. You ate that chip, perfection void. I'm so sorry for the stress I put on you and the lack of sleep and food that I give you. I know it's part of why you hate me, but I can't help it. I love you, honest, I do. Just not always. I wish you could be better but I guess wishes don't always come true. I'll make a promise with you, okay? When you become perfect, I'll treat you better.
Sincerely, Someone Who's Killing Herself Slowly For You All.