I know you like it–that feeling of hunger, that stomach-scooped-out kind of bliss. I know fantasize about it–the chalky taste of your fingers down your throat, the way they filled you up when you were so, so empty. I know you dream in it–the heavenly haze as you ran and ran, the world blurring, your legs burning. I know you reach for it–the sour raspberry taste of the quasi-legal diet pills, the big red capsules that stuck in your mouth. I know you long for it–that beautiful thin physique, that scary-low scale number, that delightfully dangerous BMI. I know you miss it–miss it more than the world, miss it because it was your world.
But I also know that you remember–that you remember dropping out of school, that remember being uprooted from your home, that you remember going to the hospital after overdosing on diet pills, that you remember having a heart attack, that you remember being technically dead for three minutes, that you remember what it was really like to be anorexic.
It wasn’t glamorous; it wasn’t pretty; it wasn’t romantic. It was a miserable, dark, agonizing, cold, lonely, hell and you are lucky to have made it out alive. You danced on the brink of death for too long, and now it’s time to move on. There’s nothing there for you, so take your broken heart and come with me; we’ve got a life to live, a world to see, a person to become.