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I carried on because I just wanted to be happy and everyone knows when you're thinner, you're happier. I carried on because, at every turn, society was rewarding me for my self-inflicted torture. I received compliments, I received propositions, I felt more accepted by people I didn't know, nearly all clothes looked great on me. I felt like I had finally earnt the right to be taken seriously as a woman; that everything before that had been redundant. That I had been foolish to think I had ever been worthy of affection. I had equated love with thinnes and, to my horror, reinforcement of this belief was everywhere. My health was plummeting, my stocks were up.
‘I felt steadier; I felt stronger. The doors inside me unlocked one by one, I emptied the rooms of all my shit and talked her through every piece of old toot I found in there; then I threw everything out. Every room I unlocked, I knew I was getting closer. To sense of self, a sense of calm. And a sense of home.’
The love I felt was aggressive and fraught - I loved him with panic and passion. I didn't fall in love; love fell on me. Like a ton of bricks from a great height.
To lower your heart rate and drift off on nights when sleep feels impossible, dream of all the adventures that lie ahead of you and the distances you’ve traveled so far. Wrap your arms tightly around your body and, as you hold yourself, hold this one thought in your head; I’ve got you.
Any woman who spent her formative years surrounded only by other girls will tell you the same thing: you never really shake off the idea that boys are the most fascinating, beguiling, repulsive, bizarre creatures to roam the earth; as dangerous and mythological as a Sasquatch.
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