Beauty To An Anorexic

I am deeply ashamed of every word I write in this post, for none of what is beautiful to my illness aligns with my values, morals, and beliefs of what is truly, effortlessly, and exceptionally beautiful in this life. However, I am writing this for all of the other people with anorexia, so they too can know that their shame is not in solitude. Our sick minds have been influenced by trauma and misconstrued societal expectations. Our perception of beauty is a reflection of society and our illnesses’ deception, rather than what lies at our core.

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Beauty is the feeling of an empty stomach, moving only as it grumbles with starvation. The hollowness speaks with power, being exceptional, unlike the majority who seek discomfort with something you have the strength to perceive as comforting. Beauty is the feeling of fragility, barely able to hold yourself up or climb a flight of stairs... when you're a leaf that blows in the midnight wind. Beauty is falling asleep at night knowing that the next day, you'll be lighter, the confidence, the surety, the rewardingness of a day 'well done'. Beauty to an anorexic is falling into the rabbit hole, the depths of a mind such as yours that can be so incredibly, revoltingly unwell. It's the mind that convinces you that you won't die, that you are fine living on the sustenance of a knife's edge, the blade sticking into your growling stomach further and further with every bite you do not have.

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Beauty to an anorexic is falling apart, crying inconsolably every night before you sleep because you're so miserably hungry, lost, and alone. It's beautiful because your outcome is something most don't have the self-deprecating willpower to achieve. But you do. You're different. You're 'perfect'. Beauty is falling upon the daily mentality of restriction, sticking to a number or a quantity that feels 'safe' and satisfactory, the mentality that will allow you to maintain or lose. Beauty is the feeling when the day is done, your head is on your pillow, food is something you don't have to face anymore, and you feel content, not guilty, fulfilled, not disappointed in yourself, and powerful, not weak. Beauty is when your life is unravelling in every way possible, but there is one sweet and beautiful thing that keeps you in control.

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Beauty is the feeling of eyes watching you behind your back, knowing the people who just double tracked you are pausing behind you, gossiping to their friend, 'Did you see that girl?', 'Is she sick?', 'Does she eat?' It's the concern of all those around you, finally, you being enough at something... Sick enough. Beauty is people knowing what you go through because they can see it in your sunken eyes and famished body, or at least wondering, pondering, guessing. Because you feel that you've won anorexia's sick fucking game.

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Beauty is everything I’ve written, and none of it at once. Because it’s all false, deceptive, and conning. Nothing is beautiful about anorexia, not even one little bit, nada, zilch, and nothing at all.

Kisses,

COS x