The Anorexic I don't want to be one of them. I'm not that girl that looks in the mirror and sucks in her stomach. I've never been the one to complain about my body. Despite that, I've become the one I've always frowned upon, that stupid teenager that thinks she is soo fat. I'm the one being discarded by everyone sensible who knows me, and the one that friends no longer have the patience to be with. I'm the anorexic. Damn it. I stand in front of my reflection and put my hands on my belly. It is swollen. Huge. I hate myself for thinking it. This is stupid. 20-year-olds don't get anorexic. Only teenage girls do. The immature ones. Not us. Not the grown-ups. Or so I thought. Damn it. I know that this is a disease, at least that is what my shrink tells me. She also tells me toeat. She doesn't know what she is asking me. The scales determine just how much I am worth today. One pound up, worthless. One pound down, better. Every day starts with this determination. I walk through my life at the mercy of the scales. Damn it. This isn't me. You're sick. What you're thinking is a part of your disease. Look at all the other girls. They are just like you. Just like you. Just like you. Yes, just like me. The words of my therapist echo in my head. I'm just like the other anorexic and bulimic girls. But I have never thrown up. Can you believe it? I can't even imagine doing that on purpose. I mean, the teeth would corrode, irreparably. Don't get me wrong, I have found other ways to compensate for my eating. Though I sometimes wish I would throw up on purpose, I use exercise instead to get rid of all the calories. That works. When people find out I starve myself, they assume I puke my guts out. I have to tell them no, I don't. They do not believe me. They think I'm lying. I shouldn't care. They can think whatever they want. They have no idea what I am going through. I had no idea what anorexia was like. I did not know, for example, that you can't even drink without wanting to curl up and die. The anxiety over the calories is overwhelming. The angst creeps into your system and explodes inside. I want to scream, and I run and run to burn off the fat from my body. The only thing I can allow myself to ingest without hating myself is water. And so I drink, I drink and drink and drink, to sate my hunger. It is useless. Anorexia. It is so different than I ever imagined it could be. I had no idea that you can hardly speak to people without feeling below them. That even a minor comment about my food plate or my body could trigger the anxiety and coerce me to workout for hours. Damn it. How did I get here? My friends have left me, my family doesn't understand me. None of them knows how to handle me, so they don't. I don't have the strength to have relationships with anyone. I live inside my own bubble. I can barely stand without collapsing. My heart is beating way too slow, but I am too frightened to care. My parents tell me I'm skinny as hell, but I can only see obesity. Another thing that I do not understand is that people don't see that I have an eating disorder. I want to yell out loud for help, because no one seems to perceive that I don't eat. Granted, I have become quite adept in manipulating others that I'm fine, but shouldn't there be a crack somewhere? If I'm so skinny, why won't people understand that something is wrong with me? It doesn't matter. I am nowhere where I want to be, either way. This isn't life. I am striving for something that I can never achieve. I will never be slim enough. This makes me a bad person. This makes me worthless. Everything in my life is centered around my weight, but I don't understand why. Another thing that I didn't know about is the heaven in the middle of the hell that is anorexia. As long as I can adjust my diet, I am in control. I can never leave that behind. I am hungry, I am starving, but I ignore it for as long as I can. And when I do, I know I am in control of myself. This achievement defines me as much as the scales, and I am someone. I have a personality – I am the one that starves. I have a goal – to weigh as little as possible. I am the one that doesn't have to eat. This knowledge provides a small portion of bliss. One that I can never consider living without. Also, I am numb. There is a complete lack of emotions within me. Yes, there is anxiety, but it runs automatically, not vividly like anger or hurt. I feel nothing. It is a wonderful thing, because I don't have to deal with all the painful things that put me in this position in the first place. I love this part of the disorder. Still, I stand in front of my mirror again, loathing myself. I think of the other girls, who are just like me. I feel sorry for them, because I know what they are going through. I feel for them, but... I don't want to be one of them. I turn my back to my reflection, being too ashamed to face it. Despite having gone without a meal for days, I stand up straight. I sigh, and try to ignore the emotional crack in my soul. I pick up the scales again and anxiously stand on it. It is time for another determination.