Believarexic

“It’s like…it’s like Megan and my other friends, they think
happiness is a bouquet of helium balloons.
Picture everyone in the world,
each holding a bunch of balloons on strings.
Most people’s balloons are plump and bouncy,
and they float really well.
Some people’s balloons might be droopy
because they’re sad, or sick, or something.
So my friends think my balloons are saggy,
and they try to help. They say, Here, have some helium.
Let’s get your balloons all floaty again.”
“Because plump balloons would indicate
that you are happy,” Dr. Prakash says.
“Right,” says Jennifer. “But the problem is,
I’m not holding droopy balloons.
I’m not holding any balloons at all.
I’m standing there with strings that lead to nothing.
So even if my friends gave me helium—
tanks and tanks of helium—
there’s nothing to put it in.
My balloons are just completely missing.”

Jennifer has tried, and failed,
at pure, restriction-only anorexia.
Bulimarexia was the best she could do.
Anorexia is flawlessness.
Anorexics are iron-clad in their willpower,
untainted by overeating, ever.
They are, have always been, the highest,
most accomplished,
most emulated,

Will you get the monster out
before you kill it,
or will you murder it
while it’s still in me?
Will I walk around,
always,
with a monster carcass rattling inside?

You are not good
unless you are sick.
Be the broken one,
it tells you.
Pare yourself down,
do everything just so,
empty your stomach,
scrape lines in your flesh,
throw yourself down stairs,
drop to your bare knees on gravel.
You want it gone, the monster.
There is no safety or comfort while it lives.
You yearn for it to be slain.
You want it dead.
And yet: you need it.
It is what makes you
special.
It sets you apart.
It helps you.