pleiadesbae

You really don’t know what it’s like unless you’re the type of person that’s experienced the longing for a soft and numbing slow death, caressing you as you’re suffocating.

Depression is kind of like a weighted blanket. Multiply that by the sensation of an ever empty stomach, hugging a pillow with your weakening arms or softly pressing your ribs and hip bones into the mattress as if was a tight hug by another but without the exposure, the feeling like a burden because of your pain. Laying there naked as you feel your cold and vulnerable body be held by the soft and warm bed in a way you’ve never been held before as your mind descends into fantasies of concerned and caring voices as they see you wasting away.

To me real anorexia is not a weight goal, nor a calorie limit, that’s more similar to what I’ve experienced when I went through bulimia. What I call anorexia comes with a wave of need, a need to curl up and hide away from this harsh world, a need to feel like the love you receive is actually real, a need for a kind hand on your bony shoulder or a hug of your small waist to feel validating instead of exposing and shameful.

I didn’t have a peaceful childhood. Nor have most of us. I don’t know what it is about me exactly that I’ve romanticized the idea of starvation ever since I was 8 or even younger. It’s been almost 12 years since then and when life gets hard it still washes over me like a wave, a longing to be numb, so intense it’s almost romantically sexual.

There is such a deep intimacy to isolation. When it hits me I don’t want to talk to anyone. I especially don’t want my mother to see me, her seeing me not doing well feels like a sharp exposure that I’m a failure or a burden.

I don’t think thinness is beautiful. Especially not in women. I think there’s something rather pathetic to it and that’s exactly what I yearn for. To feel sick, to be sick, to feel cold from the inside out so the blankets and big and soft hoodies keep me warm, as if I got some extra time in my mother’s womb before being forced into this cold world. (Fun fact: my birth was a forced C section as well)

To me anorexia always comes hand in hand with depression and isolation. It’s not something I involuntarily suffer but more like a drug I cling onto more than dear life. I use it and create these states because they feel comforting to me but in a way where I also feel what I’m doing is wrong, but there’s something addicting to thinking “oh god what am I doing to myself” as if I was the victim.