eating disorder

it’s 1:21 p.m., and the day has already started without me. the sun presses through the curtains like it’s trying to uncover something. the house is quiet, and i lie there staring at the ceiling, already aware of my body before i even move.

the first thought isn’t about plans. it isn’t about school or messages or the weather. it’s about how i look. it’s always about how i look.

i tell myself i should get up, but i don’t. my body feels heavier than it should, not because of what i ate, not because of what i didn’t, but because existing like this is exhausting. i replay yesterday in my head. every bite. every drink. every moment i lost control. it all blurs into small mistakes and smaller portions.

today already feels like something i have to fix.

i sit up slowly and wait for the dizziness to pass. the room tilts and tilts and then settles. i pretend it’s normal when i know it’s not.

i walk to the mirror without deciding to. i don’t just look at my face, i scan. stomach. the way my stomach folds. the gap between my thighs. my arms. i turn sideways. i pull at fabric.

not enough, i think. not enough, i say.

i press my hand flat against my stomach like i’m checking if it’s real. i don’t know what i’m hoping to feel. flatter. smaller. different. i just know that what’s there is wrong.

the kitchen is still when i walk in. i stand there longer than necessary, pretending to decide what to eat, when what i’m really doing is negotiating with myself.

if i skip now, i’ll feel better later.

if i eat now, i’ll regret it later.

i open the fridge. i close it. i drink water instead. it’s cold and sharp and empty. it fills space, not hunger.

hunger doesn’t feel physical anymore. it feels like a test. something i’m supposed to pass.

by afternoon my thoughts are louder than the room. my hands shake slightly when i scroll. i see girls laughing in sunlight, skin glowing, stomachs flat without trying. i compare without meaning to. i compare until it hurts.

i say i’m tired when someone asks. that part is true.

i’m tired of counting. tired of comparing. tired of measuring my worth in reflections and numbers and how loose my clothes feel by the end of the day.

sometimes i can’t focus on what people are saying because i’m too busy calculating what i’ll allow myself later. sometimes i feel proud for saying no. sometimes i feel weak for wanting anything at all.

there is no winning.

dinner is brighter. louder. harder to avoid. i sit at the table and try to look normal. i cut my food into smaller pieces. i space out my bites. i talk more so i don’t have to eat more.

and if i lose control, even for a moment, even for one extra bite, the guilt spreads fast and hot through my chest. i promise myself i will do better tomorrow. smaller tomorrow. stricter tomorrow.

at night i lie in the same bed, under the same ceiling, with the same quiet weight pressing into my ribs. my heart feels louder in the dark. my body feels both present and distant, like something i’m trapped inside of.

just another day spent shrinking.

just another day spent fighting hunger like it’s an enemy.

just another day spent disappointed in the body that carried me through it.

tomorrow the sun will press through the curtains again. i will wake up already thinking about how to take up less space. maybe i’ll look different. maybe i won’t.

it won’t matter.

i will still measure the day in portions.

i will still measure myself in flaws.

i will still go to sleep exhausted from a war no one else can see.

just to repeat it all over again.