It was all lies.

One more. Two less. A little further, A little lower. A bit stronger, a bit smaller. Fading  Down four. Decrease 60. Up by an hour. Patience please. Don’t give up. Perfection awaits you. Don’t you want it? No Yes. Five less. Ten. Maybe 20? How about 50? Let me out Net. 500. Tomorrow will be 400. And then 200. You will be envied. You will be noticed. You will be perfect.Lies,

Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? The never ending internal dialogue that twists around your head and leaks into your veins. The voice. The false promiser. The puppeteer. The liar.

Anorexia is a liar, liar, pants on fire.

‘You will be happier’. You will be so caught up in the dark tangle of deceit you will forget how it feels when the sun hits your forehead and thaws the frost. The colour will be drained from everything around you, and you will be no more than a skeletal corpse, hollowed eyes and stale breath. Happiness will be but a thing of the past.

‘You will be envied and noticed’. People will stare I am not denying that. But with concern and heartbreak. With disgust. With fear. People will cry and yell at you. People will beg. People around you will get dragged into this deadly forest, and you won’t ever let them out. People will be angry at you. But not a soul will envy you, because you are dying.

‘People will want to be your friend’. You will lose friends faster than your heart palpitations. That girl who you’ve laughed with since Pre- School will suddenly be the target of your anorexic jealousy. Your best friend will get lost trying to find their way though the maze of lies you’ve woven around you. You will be withdrawn and quiet. They will forget you even exist. You’ll be doing sit ups on your bedroom floor while they are out eating fries and choosing prom dresses. You will be sobbing at an apple piece while they sob about their latest break up. You will miss out on everything and you won’t ever get it back.

‘You’ll stop at your goal weight’. Perhaps the greatest lie of all. You can’t stop. You are an addict. the number pinned in your journal will gradually decrease. First the digits ‘120’ circled in blue marker. How about 110? If you did that, why not 100? Why not 90? 80? Why stop? Until the crossing out soaks through the paper and into your bloodstream. Prepare for an overdose if you continue.

‘You’re ugly and worthless’. You are so, so precious. Although it may not seem it today, life is not about being the ‘prettiest girl in school’. Nor is it about the number of followers. It is about the way your natural abilities shine through. Whether that’s art, photography, maths, fashion, writing. Or your kindness. Your laughter. Your ability to fix everyone’s bad day. The way your eyes set alight when speaking about that thing you love. The way you can’t stay angry for very long. How messy you are. Your addiction to tea. Your worth is not defined by any number. Not your net total, BMI. Your worth is defined by how others perceive you. And you are beautiful.

‘You’re not ‘ill enough”. If you believe this you are so very ill indeed. I see the struggle of so many. I watch them fade away. Racing towards that end goal. Death, disguised as a number.

‘You’re fine.’ Would you be reading this if you were?


Pants on fire. Liar, liar, liar, liar, liar. Nothing but empty promises. As empty as your eyes. As empty as her soul. As empty as his belly. Anorexia is nothing but empty and hollow.



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