I'm done.
I told my parents everything. I got the help I need.
I'm done because I weigh the same as an eleven year old
child, I'm fucking emaciated, I'm functioning on nothing,
I'm throwing up everything I eat until I spit blood, and
it's gotten to a point where I can barely dress myself
because I'm scared of touching my body, scared of feeling all
the fat.
I'm done with waking up every morning and leaving half my
hair behind.
I'm done with the knowledge that I'm infertile, can't
have children, because of this.
I'm done with keeping bags of vomit in my bedroom.
I'm done with bruising around my stomach.
I'm done with barely being able to walk thanks to laxative
abuse,
I'm done with crying over food, crying because I don't
want to eat it even though I haven't eaten all day.
I'm done with my hands constantly shaking.
I'm done with always being cold, the kind of impossible cold
which you can't break through even with 5 layers of clothing
and a sauna and a hot shower, because somehow, the cold is inside
you, not outside.
I'm done with being withdrawn, moody, I'm done with
hating everyone for no apparent reason.
I've wasted my life. I could've eaten icecream with my
friends on summer nights whilst we talked about boys but it's
120 calories a scoop so no no no.
I'm scared of impromptu eating, scared of keeping the food
down, scared of sitting still because I'm not burning
calories.
I get people at the station when I get the train calling me a
freak because I walk up and down whilst I wait, but I do that
because I can't bring myself to stand still, can't face
the guilt.
I'm DONE. I'm through with these FUCKING eating
disorders.
This is it.
I'm recovering.
Because I'm thirteen years old and I have another sixty-odd
years before I'm supposed to die.