ENVY

Envy. The little green monster. Green, the color of lettuce. The only thing I eat anymore. I was always jealous of his body. Always. How can you be friends with the boy who seemed to be so skinny without any effort? He was rail thin. He was coveted. He was wanted.

And all I ever wanted were those things. I just wanted everything he had.

Unfortunately the only thing I picked up from him was an eating disorder. I know someone can't give you bulimia, but they can sure hurry the process along. He whispered to me how he skipped meals, and I witnessed him leaving the bathroom after meals, smelling of acid. Cigarettes kill urges. I learned all the tips from him. Drink water. Don't buy food. Work out. Avoid meals. I learned from the best. He who does not want to recover.

Let me tell you a secret though, I don't either.

I will never be thin enough. I tell myself at the start that when I lose ten pounds I will be happy. So in two weeks I lose ten pounds. No big deal. I just followed the guru. But guess what? I felt hollow. Only ten pounds, that's nothing. It wasn't even ten percent of my body weight. It was nothing. I looked the same. I felt the same. The only difference is I went down a pants size. I couldn't see it though. I still felt like the same girl as when I started.

But now I was a failure. Now I wasn't good enough. Now food seemed sinful. I always thought about becoming an extremist religion where the people beat themselves so I could get away with cutting and scratching without being wrong. It seemed like a perfect fit. But now with the starving, how would I explain that? Lent. For Lent (which I don't really celebrate) I will give up food. Beat that you pious bastard. So what you gave up caffeine or liquor? I'm giving up food. For forty days.

But Lent isn't year around, and even my thin friend eats occasionally. But somewhere, in the sick reaches of my mind, I want win. I want to be the thinnest. Little miss perfect with the sharp collar bones.

I don't want recovery. I want thin.