Novel Treatments / Porcelain God - Prologue (Analysis)
My story feels like it begins with my disease. Everything before it entered my life is fuzzy and blurred around the edges, like it wasn’t real. I know that things led me to this place but I don’t quite believe they actually happened to me. I like to believe that in the beginning I was a different person. That over the years of mistakes and bad choices and struggling against a disease that has grown to encompass my life more and more, I have evolved into a different sort of creature than I started out as. But maybe I am just deluding myself, as so many of us do when we realize that not only do we not recognize ourselves, but we don’t like the people that we have become either.
The things I know for certain that have changed are really so insignificant in the long run that it is hard to tell if they define the person I am now or not.
There was a time in my life when I had no idea what hungry felt like. The second I had even a twinge of need that need was met. Met with an overabundance really. Anything I wanted to eat was handed to me readily by parents happy to oblige their little girl.
There was also a time when I had no clue what it meant to stop and stare in every mirror, every surface my reflection would be revealed in. The nagging fear that I looked WRONG, that I appeared to others as someone that DIDN’T BELONG,did not haunt me constantly from the back of my mind, forcing me to check and double check my appearance at each and every opportunity.
There was a time when I didn’t argue with myself over taking the last bite of food on my plate, or for taking any bites at all for that matter. There was a time I didn’t have an image of every toilet within twenty miles of me memorized; when I couldn’t come up with secret plans and complex lies like a super spy to keep my terrible secret a terrible secret.
At one point I changed, my life changed, and I became a victim of my own decisions. I was just too blind to see it happening, because in that faded photograph of memory that is the beginning, all I could think about was being thin. Nothing else even mattered to me. Not how many hours I spent over the toilet, jamming my fingers down my throat to trigger a wave of barely digested food. Not the lengths I had to go to in order to cover up what I was doing, cleaning the toilet every time I used it, finding ways to sneak out and vomit in gas station restrooms and at friends’ houses so that I wouldn’t get caught. Not the fact that I was always tired and sick, and suddenly school, work and my friends didn’t matter to me anymore.
In the beginning all I could think about was getting what I wanted. And what I wanted was to be thin. Model thin. Size zero thin. Popular, beautiful, lusted after thin. Not voluptuous or slightly overweight, or even average. Thin. Skinny. Perfect. Yes, perfect. You see, that is how I saw that great state of being that was THIN. In my mind it equaled perfection and everything I ever wanted or aspired to be. If I was thin people would like me. I would be the most popular girl in school and get invited to all the parties. I would wear the coolest clothes and date the hottest guys. If I was thin I would be brave enough to ask the boy of my dreams out on a date, and when I went to the mall with my friends boys would stare at me and want me. In my mind, being thin was being alive.
And strangely enough, after time, even the whole reason I had invited the disease into my life changed, just like so much before it. Being thin wasn’t a goal anymore. There was no goal. There was just the fear, and the loneliness, and the addiction to the disorder.
My story is not unique but it is mine. It is about hatred and despair and an eating disorder that lies and manipulates. The only answers I can give are few and changeable. But I will give them because I can. Because I can share my story, my disease, and show how I fell down the rabbit hole of a dangerous porcelain god.
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You have done well to get an eating disorder across, having been there myself I understood. Your right in saying, it stops being a goal. The disease manifest its self, it controls and seeks to destroyed. However by the time you no its got to the point of it being a disease its to late. You bravely show, how desperate girls can get just to be liked, but the problem is within ourselves. Keep writing, this could help thousands of young girls. they say prevention is better than cure. your work can do that. good luck jayne sterne ( author of destroyed a secret that cant be told a life forever ruined )
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