I fear you don't gain much from anorexia except how to hate yourself completely. There is a euphoria; thinning limbs and decreasing pounds. There is a purpose, or it feels, a direction to follow down and a sense of meaning. I've never had a religious experience, but anorexia sometimes sort of felt like one might. It had a purpose that couldn't be defined, and in the clarity of bones and hollows of eyes and cheeks, there is meaning. Crazy smiles and frenzied energy; but there is a stillness, too. I loved that, the stillness and peacefulness and oneness with a bed or chair or any place. The ability to just lie, or sit, all still for death.
But then the aftermath isn't like it. There is a rush, an energy, an emotional world and array that will attack; a tsunami over your head, crashing and twisting everything into uncontrollable sobs and uncertainty. There are wasted years, and withered body parts which were forgotten in the midst of it. They will scream, you will scream, life will be shit. The pointlessness can take you over, running amok in your veins; searching for escape...
It's too weird to make sense of. I'll write it out one day in the best way that I can think of.
... Does anyone know of any good love poems? >_<
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