Fall Before You Fly
I took a deep breath, preparing me for the nearly inevitable heartbreak that was to come. It felt as if one hundred spotlights were shining down on me, as if I was preparing myself to recite entire chapters of War and Peace to an audience of thousands. Pacing myself, I glanced in the mirror a final time. I had to do this. It was going to be hard, but maybe it would be worth it.
I exhaled a mixture of carbon dioxide and worries, deciding that it would all be over soon. It was just a moment, and it would be over with a simple heartbeat. Maybe this was how I was supposed to forget all of my yesterdays. Before I had time to change my mind, I stepped onto the scale.
It felt as if eternities were passing as I waited for the burgundy and scarlet numbers to tell me of the damage that was done. Had I done it? Was I officially recovered? Thoughts fluttered through my mind like butterflies in a flowerbed. The numbers appeared and my heart dropped. Was I healthy or was I fat?
In my mind, I was a failure. There was nothing else to it. The angel of common sense rested on my shoulder, whispering sweet things into my ear. Messages of congratulations, the conveying of pride. On the other shoulder lies the demon named anorexia (or as I called her, ana), who spoke not-so-sweet nothings to me. Who was I supposed to listen to? I had made a vow. The scale would never again show me triple digits. There would never again be a time when someone claimed that I was too heavy to sit on their lap. I would never be that girl again, so I claimed, and yet here I was.
Salt water tears filled my green eyes to the brim, spilling over and ruining the makeup I had worked so hard to perfect. I drew in a shaky breath. It had taken me years to get to the point
of being skin and bones. I had poured blood, sweat and tears into the figure that I had. I had become perfect. I was porcelain: beautiful to look at, yet easy to break, and that was how I liked it. The years of...