Her name was Ana. She was so beautiful when I found her; aren’t they all? I wasn’t looking for her specifically; I was just trying to find some sort of self-medication. My first mistake was letting her into my life too fast. I was fragile then and she was strong. Before I knew it, I was following her everywhere. I chased her down lonely roads with outstretched arms. She taught me how to love her in place of myself, and how to lie to protect her. In return, I gave her everything. I needed her. I didn’t know just how far she would push me. I tried to leave her, but every time I got away and told myself I didn’t need her, I somehow knew I was lying to myself. I was confused all the time and tired of playing her games. In a strife to find love, I lost all the love I had for myself.
However, there were times when she showed me that I was getting better. There were times that it didn’t hurt as much and times when it seemed to be paying off. In those moments, she always had me. I would let my guard down and break down my dam and start spilling with emotion. She would lead me to believe that there existed some symbiotic trust. I believed it every time. It was a cycle. Heartbreak after heartbreak I continued to let myself be dragged along by her promising words, leaving parts of myself behind everywhere we went. I lied to myself. I told myself I could let go any time I wanted. I told myself I didn’t care. I told myself I didn’t need her. Nothing could save me. I was lost and tethered to her lies. She had me on a string, suffocating me to the point where I could just barely get enough air to breathe and then she would let go and do it again. Each time she would leave me broken and defeated on the cold asphalt, coughing up shards of fragmented promises.
It’s funny because nothing seems wrong until your whole body is numb, cold and you’re floating in some sort of limbo between your destroyed life and an almost appealing death. Nothing about your life has been spared. This is the reality of an eating disorder.