twilight // 217 (as of yesterday)

I'm in this strange area between recovery and sickness -- both are pulling me, hard, in opposing directions, and I'm not sure what to do.

It's twilight, the moment when the sun sinks below the horizon, and night begins; or is it dawn, the moment when the sky just starts to brighten, and the first rays of light touch the ground? I don't know. They seem so similar. I am sinking deeper into despair, and at the same time, beginning to transcend my 'fat' body and become more than a number on the scale.


I'm not going to pretend I don't have delusions of grandeur -- that I haven't always harbored the secret desire to be that girl. Thin, but not beautiful. Not even pretty. Haggard, unkempt, and sickly, bones jutting out of her ass, a living corpse. Miserable, freakish. But so very thin, so much that there is no doubt that she suffers. There are no words for the pain she feels.

When I was at my low weight, I was underweight. But just. Not enough to be obvious, not enough to raise concern. Just enough to be considered pretty. Beautiful, even.

I don't want to be pretty. I don't want to be the object of anyone's affection. Rather, I want to be an object of revulsion. I want to be unwanted. Undesireable. I want to starve off everything that made me attractive to anyone.

It's sick. Obviously, I'm sick inside. I just want the sickness to be reflected on the outside, so glaringly that others must look away, or be struck blind.