TW: Eating Disorder


shrinking

i don’t remember

learning to eat

without guilt.

because what else was i supposed to do

with all that shame

swelling up in me

like fullness?

i remember dinners

and being called “the skinny one,”

or “still a little chubby,”

like they were checking a box

on what i was allowed to be.

so i learned

not to eat

unless i felt safe.

and safe is

rare.

i like hunger

hunger feels calm.

feels easy.

like a secret.

like control.

when i eat alone,

i chew slow.

i count meals like sins.

i try to pretend i’m not there,

just

a mouth

and a mirror.

sometimes

i look at food

and feel like it’s already inside me—

like it’s already changed me.

like i’ve already failed

before the first bite.

some people say

your body is a home.

mine feels more like

a glass stomach

in a house of eyes.

it’s hard to eat

when you’re always being watched.

even harder

when the worst watcher

is you.

i want to be soft

and full

and unafraid.

i want to eat

without doing math in my head.

without thinking of mirrors

and boys

and swimsuits

and numbers.

i wish i could eat without

feeling like i was

swallowing guilt

and shame

and pain

in little bites.

but most days

i eat shame first.

then guilt.

then maybe

a little food.

and if i’m lucky—

if it’s quiet—

a flicker

of comfort

before it swiftly disappears.