Night for everyone is a moment of relaxation, it is the hour to sleep, to rest the body, to lighten it from the heavy load of the previous day. For me the night wasn't like that. The night is solitude, the night is silence, silence implies reflection, reflection implies anxiety. I felt the anguish crossing my body at night. My negative thoughts filled my mind with black; in that deafening silence almost real voices could be heard. I felt "tomorrow try to fast!", "Organizes strategies to avoid eating heavy foods", "look, you are not as beautiful as the others, you are the worst"; I often put my hands to my ears that night to silence those voices: useless attempts, they are the voices of my sick mind; how many times I wondered what normality was, something so far away; by now it was obvious to count every single calorie I ingested, there was no freedom to choose the food that you prefer according to your tastes, I chose favoring my illness. That night I thought a lot, like I never did before and I realized that I had another person inside me, almost like someone who ordered me what to do, what to eat or how to dispose of calories; it was like a voice that whispered to me what to do without ever having to make any mistakes, absolutely. I was crying desperately, I wanted help but at the same time I didn't want to: asking for help implies returning to normality, normality implies being fat, out of control; I had to be in control, I certainly couldn't lose it.
I turned over several times in the bed, which almost seemed made of stone. Suddenly my mind lit up with some memories: my childhood. During my tender age I often admired thin people considering them automatically beautiful; but I didn't care, I ate like a normal child, I ate everything. I loved holidays. I loved attending the buffets. I loved going to eat in restaurants. I loved my grandmother's lunches. I loved the smell of freshly made cakes from my mother. I loved life and savored it. I didn't remember how it could have happened but I started hating myself and hurting myself, I deprived myself of food and I missed it a lot at first. It became an habit, it became daily life, a routine. Yes, the darkness aroused in me so many thoughts, in that darkness my thoughts seemed to come to life. But there was a positive thing: darkness, embraced my body, made it disappear in its darkness and I felt so good not being able to look at it; I touched the bones near my neck and rejoiced. How stupid I was, I lost the most beautiful age, lost my youth, gave way to madness, to voices impossible to silence. Was it really worth it?
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Life perceived by anorexia.Random
It isn't a book, it isn't an adventure narration, a mystery novel or a romance. These are thoughts wrote during sad situations in the life, not any life, but life perceived by an anorexic girl...her life is covered from sadness and guilt, weighted d...