{Prose/general fiction} "Countdown" {TW: Eating disorder references}

When I start to see the scale dip towards 100 and think of continuing the countdown to zero like a self-destruct sequence in slow motion, a part of me feels victorious. It feels like I am taking some kind of control of the way I have felt inside my whole life. I have always felt like a freak, was treated like one, and was eaten up by a hunger for touch and for connection and for things I cannot even name -- but on the outside I looked perfectly normal. There was no sign of my inner state and I was always judged and rejected if I tried to voice said state or show it emotionally. I have come to enjoy writing it on my skin, instead.

I like to make my body a canvass for the twisted silence in me. I like to look a little desperate. I like to look hungry. I like to remind people of things that unsettle them: Death, famine, poison, pain. When I embody the macabre I feel in tune with my inner self. It's just another method of nonverbal communication, and surely anything deconstructed with enough effect and purpose begins to teeter on the verge of art.

This is the mute horror that cannot be silenced yet cannot be ignored. This is impact. I will crawl under your skin and a part of me will haunt you in your last thoughts before sleep takes you.

When I look deathly pale I smile and feel touched by the mournful watch of the moon. Bones peeking through skin beg the softness of arms to fall into. My scars tell the story of a journey down a path that was not well-traveled. I stumble to you at the end of it looking sallow and blotchy and hollow-eyed, finally not having to utter a word to ask you to feed me, love me, hold me, bring me back to life and make me whole for a little while.

Art from: http://fineartamerica.com/featured/anorexia-laura-seed.html