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'I want protruding hipbones, something I lost long ago.
Now I'm the size I'm supposed to be
but I want my bones back and the skin to hang,
tightly wound around my frame.
Suffocating, but still...
not small enough.
I cannot trace every organ, I cannot feel every bone.
My flesh no longer looks like that of a starved decaying animal--completely empty, but longing to be even emptier.
I miss the way I used to pound my hollow bones,
mangling them against the metal frame.
I used to squeeze my ribs so hard, I thought surely they would break.
I would look in the mirror and criticize everything I'd see.
I wasn't good enough, wasn't strong enough.
Stupid.
Fat.
Pathetic.
And weak.
I miss the way my heart felt when it wouldn't beat.
Its unpredictable thumps threatening me, teasing that maybe it would
just stop beating.
I miss the way the bruises felt,
the delicate black and charming blue.
I miss the ache and the strict routines;
the starvation,
the high.
The fierce dedication,
unparalleled commitment,
and that voice in the back of my head.
Oh, sweet self destruction. You were my dearest friend.
But I stopped breaking.
I gave up.
My limbs were scarred, my mind was dead, my throat was raw,
and my heart just couldn't take it anymore.

I'm so sorry I loved you.'