I face the mirror and strip down, one piece of clothing at a time. The black skirt to slim my stomach. The shirt that hides my fat. The spandex underneath it all to keep me contained, prevent me from spilling out onto the floor, a blubbering mess of insecurity. Hunger gnaws at my ribcage and the emptiness expands throughout my body. I feel light and free, like I could fly away from my dysfunctional self at any time. I put myself on the scale and watch the numbers go up and up, but stay lower than the last time I put myself through this torture. I think about what I've put myself through in the last year. The fasting, the lies to myself and everyone around me, the slowly shrinking body I live in. I know there was some point in time where I was taught to be disgusted by this, that malnutrition and bones and emptiness were bad. What I don't understand is how feeling this good, this empty, this thin, could be bad. I have more to lose, will I feel it then? When my spine raises itself from within my back and my hipbones cut through my jeans, will I change my mind? I hope not, I hope I never recover. I want to continue down this road, to lose and lose and lose until there is nothing to lose anymore. Until I fade away, a bony light girl forgotten.