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Hello.
Wow, I don't do this too often. Well never really, but I guess I'd better.
I have a problem. A big problem. Maybe it's not big to the whole world, but it's big to me.
You see, I think I'm anorexic.
Wow. It was so hard to write that. A simple sentence, 4 words. 4 words that have changed my life.
I use to be happy. Very happy. I use to smile as the sun warmed my back, I use to laugh in the wind. Now all I can think of i seeing the ribs poke out of my back, and to concentrate on not smiling. If I smile my cheeks look fat and podgy. I don't like my cheeks being fat and podgy.
I have read books, i have been told stories on how people with Anorexia Nervosa become so thin and fragile that look like dolls. How their families have been torn apart, how their mums cry themselves to sleep and their dads try to force food down their sickly child's throat. Yes, I've heard those stories, plenty of times, but it doesn't stop me.
I'm fuelled by my desire to be thin, not my food. I love touching my body and not clutching fat in my hands, instead I feel bones.
I stand gripping my hips. They jut out of my body, making me feel thinner. Better.
Months ago I had a round face, now my chin comes to a point. A nice point. A point that makes me feel thinner, better.
i take hundreds of pictures of myself. Every part of my body must be photographed. Some i pose for, some i examine. I'm not happy with my thighs. They're not toned enough. I grab a tape measure and bend the metal around my leg. No, no, this is not happening. They're too big. Far too big. I don't care if my jeans are falling down, even though they're children size 9-10 years. I'll run for 2 hours tomorrow. Yes, that's what I'll do. I can't cut any more calories, I don't have any. I'll run and then do 100 squats. No, 200.
My bedroom door opens, and there stands my sister. She's 7, but she knows what I'm doing. She's seen me throw my dinner in the bin, she's seen my puke in the toilet after I've had a chocolate binge. She's unhappy to.
'Mummy, mummy!' She yells, running down the stairs. I quickly wrap my dressing gown round me, lie on my bed and pretend to watch T.V, eating crisps.
My mum comes up the stairs, her face pale and he eyes anxious from what Jennifer's just told her.
'Lucy, are you alright?'
I look at her. She looks so ill, so lost. I can't put my mum through this, I can't do this to her. I promised her I would eat, I promised her I would be good. I promised her I would not lie. 'Yeah, why?'
'Oh, Jenny just told me you were measuring yourself again.'
I looked at my little sister; her eyes looked at me like she didn't know me. I didn't know me.
'Mum, I'm not like that anymore. I'm better now.'
Another lie. A big fat stupid lie. Well what was I suppose to do? I'd been through so much these past months. I've been poked and prodded to the ends of the earth. I've been given more medication then i have eaten. But it had not worked. I still want to be thin, and nothing will stop me.
That's why i need you. I need you so much. People have told me of the miracles you perform, of the healing.
Please, Jesus, help me.