(no subject)

[dried]

Sure, people say that nobody is perfect. but some people appear to be closer than others. and even if deep down they aren't perfect (because the sheer amount of work required to keep perfection static and unflawed is overwhelming, like trying to keep painted nails unchipped for months), the image they project is so polished and so professional that I would gladly make it my full-time goal to learn how to assume such a facade. and who knows? maybe by the time I had shaped by body and my mind into that perfect discipline of balance and beauty, I would have forgotten the terrible mental agonies of the past and become the perfection itself. and does it really matter where my soul would have gone in the process? being soulless, how could I notice the absence? maybe the only way to tell by then would be by looking at that slightly manic gleam of hunger in the eyes - hunger for something more than food - that true anorexics have. the gleam that shows to you - you, who is somebody still looking out from this side of perfection, struggling - that when they look out they see something different and altogether more wonderful than what you see. Whatever vision they see, the feverish glassiness of the stare makes it look so close and so within reach... It makes me believe that if I can just touch that kind of perfection, I can be one with it and never have to work for it again, but merely exist in a sort of untouchable, titanium-frosted, self-contained nirvana.

and vaguely but strongly, all of this has something to do with a number on a scale, a shadow under a rib, the absence of hair on a patch of leg and an abundance of hair on another such patch of scalp.

but no worries, girls. I'm still sane. I'm still going to have 500 a day until I'm 90. 90 pounds, that is. i will pound out my days until I reach 90 pounds.