a thinspo site uses my weight in the Before picture and i remember exactly when things hurt the most. the nights spent watching food network on the elliptical, learning to associate kitchens with burning legs. the middle school poetry about skeleton bodies. the smirks that always said you’re never going to be the thing you want to be. the wanting that always came back louder.
so it’s 3am and i am here again. crying over bone and hollow body like i am thirteen and jealous all over. looking at girls like me on the side of the scale that isn’t beautiful. watching my body remember the way it learned to swallow itself. nothing has ever felt more like home and i hate it.
i don’t call myself recovered because i never called myself sick. because i am not recovered. because it is 3am years later and i am still fantasizing about unzipping my skin and dripping away to nothing and i don’t know if it will ever get easier.
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