Pluto

one.

   Eating, for me, is about as simple and unextraordinary as taking a swim in the acid I've left in the toilet.
   That is, to say, not at all.
   I fixate on the ceiling, eye glossy and unfocused, as numbers flood my mind without consent. There is no true recovery for me; only relentless cycles of restriction, purging, and countless binges that I pass off as "trying". These cycles have thrown my body into a whirlwind of weight fluctuations, which merely fuel the delusion that I'm not sick; I simply lack self control. I have no idea of what's fact and fiction anymore. When I look in the mirror, I simultaneously see fat and bone. The precious negative space between my femurs is present, but not enough to keep the whispers in my head at bay. I am a ragdoll, swinging in the midst of a desert wasteland. Am I too thin? Not thin enough? Why am I worried about the number of calories in toothpaste?
   When I started to lose weight, I intended on losing fat from my waistline. Not the grey matter in my head.
   I force myself off of the mattress, feeling it slowly move back into place without the weight of my body to hold it down. Disgusting.
   I stretch, fingers gripping the marred flesh of my arms. When I placed the blade against them that morning, it was with the intent to go to sleep and never awaken. Now, I'm not sure if I want to die. Mostly, I just want to wipe every trace of me from existence. Every footprint, every memory, any evidence that this worn, tired excuse of a person ever breathed.
   My legs carry me to the kitchen, these hands pouring cereal and milk of their own accord. My brain screams No! I am too fat and tired to care this time.
   My hand holds a spoon that loads soggy calories into me, mouthful by mouthful. The thought of purging crosses my mind, but I dismiss it. I am exhausted. I am a waste.
   To the untrained eye, I am healthy. Happy smile, laughing mouth, bones just far enough beneath the surface to avoid suspicion. But to the eyes that stare back at me in the mirror, I am garbage. Glassy eyes, dull skin, rolls of lumpy yellow fat encasing my abdomen, my chin, my legs. Maybe if I were dedicated enough, I could pull my skeleton to the surface. I'd shatter these bones and scoop out the marrow. I'd destroy every last inch of me, until there is nowhere left for these ghosts to hide.