I suppose the thing that I remember most about that time was
Looking into the mirror and seeing too much.

The word anorexic always seemed to have a nice ring to it,
It wasn’t something you could claim,
But rather something you earned.

So for long days and forever nights
I thought about what I wanted;
What I wanted to see,
Who I wanted to be,
And most importantly how I wanted to be seen.

I dreamed of dangerous things like disappearing
And shameful things like birthday cake and vanilla ice cream.

I’d count the days in a row that I managed to succeed at being anorexic.
Pleasure foods were like alcohol and drugs and
I was in AA.
I was ready for a new start and
I just knew that if I lost the weight
Then I’d be prettier
And he’d notice me
And everyone would be nicer to me
And I would suddenly matter.
As if my whole existence could be validated by a number.