no one talks about the grief you get when you try to recover. you miss the cold, skinny, version of yourself. you miss the small meals and the euphoric moments. you miss the weird connection you have with yourself, even if deep down you know it wasn’t you.
the grief of knowing that sort of control, that comfort is gone. the comfort of knowing the scale won’t be moving up. the control you have to skip a meal, not finish your plate, do that one last sit up even if there’s bruises on your back. i miss it. i miss that part of me.
why does know one talk about the grief? i lost the thing that kept my body glued through it all, i lost my way to cope. i lost the only thing that would listen. that would give me a plan, a way. i lost her - i lost ana.
and now i’m lost.
