Dying to be Thin

Sometimes,

I think that maybe,

Just maybe,

Fingers crossed and breath held,

I can get better.

Sometimes,

Ana doesn’t talk for days.

And my stomach doesn’t grumble,

And my throat doesn’t burn,

And my head doesn’t pound,

And I start to think I could recover.

Maybe,

Just maybe,

I could beat her.

I could win.

And I start to eat.

Without puking,

Without punishment,

Without Ana torturing me,

For every morsel I slip into my mouth.

I watch myself slowly regain the weight,

Slowly start fitting into my clothing again,

And I feel like I’m almost there.

I’m almost free.

Almost healthy.

But then,

Ana returns with a vengeance,

Just as abusive as ever.

And I just watch.

I just sit back and watch,

As she takes control of my body.

I watch,

As she forces diet pills,

And laxatives,

And my finger,

Straight down my throat,

Trying to rip all the food,

All the fat,

Out of my system.

I watch the number on the scale,

As it falls,

Falls,

Falls,

From 120,

To 118,

To 115,

And lower still.

I watch my pants,

Start riding lower and lower,

On my slippery hips.

I watch my stomach sink into itself,

Until I can count my ribs again.

And the grumbling returns.

And the burning returns.

And the pounding returns.

And I can't recover.

I can't beat her.

I can't win.