Ana by Sierra DeMulder.
I want to kiss this woman. This is the most beautiful thing. Just listen and then say that you support anorexia or bulimia or any other disorder where people hurt so fucking much that they want to die. That being thin, that being nothing is worth more than their fucking life. ‘Ana’, for me, is just… it is gut wrenching. It takes your heart and squeezes it and makes your pulse quicken and your throat tightens and every gulp for breath is taken in a panic. Nothing better has ever been written on the subject. It is just, it hits the bone and it makes me so guilty, so tightly pinned down that I do not know what to say, surely I need to explain myself. How DARE I do this, how dare this happen to me and when the fuck did I decide it was okay to be like this, that this monster was acceptable. This isn’t me but then again what is. My body has only tried to please me. It has listened when I am tired, it has harboured so much pain and it has SURVIVED. But still my stomach churns when I look at it, I am repulsed by it like someone is repulsed by a welt, a growth, a cancer. I am healthy and I am alive and WHEN DID THAT BECOME NOT ENOUGH. When did breathing become a chore and food a poison.
I am crying my fucking eyes out. FUCK. WHYWHYWHY.