Miss Edie

I imagine Miss Edie to be a slight figure. A rattling skeleton, sitting beside me where ever I go. I imagine her to be bones covered in aged skin, that is thin and transparent. Aged beyond her years, by the effects of an eating disorder. I imagine there is nothing to her. And because of that is why it's so hard for me to see what I really look like. Because despite how thin you may be, when you sit next to a skeleton, you will always feel fat. Her hair is scraggly, thin and brittle. There isn't much of it, as her body has been ravaged and starved, causing it to fall out in chunks everytime she washes it. Her bones are more visable, than anyone you've ever seen. Her collar bones sharp beneath her shirt, and hip bones pressing against her pants, hanging limply off the space that used to be her ass. Her breasts are like deflated balloons, barely filling her bra. You can see her rib cage through the thin fabric of her clothing. She bends over, counting the knobs of her spine. 1,2,3,4,5....down down down all the way to her lower back. There is nothing to her. She is a miserable excuse for a human. But she is your friend. And she is there when no one else is around. Taunting you, luring you, inviting you to join her. You cuddle together at night, two boney bodies trying to stay warm beneath layers of blankets and warm sweaters. Bellies competing in growling contests. Who's is louder, who's is more demanding. You cuddle closer. Wishing the wind would stop howling, and wishing to be empty. One more hour. Count it down. 60 minutes. Color in the box. There are 85 boxes on the sheet of paper. You've colored in 17 of them with your pink pen. Drink some more water. Have another smoke. 'We can do this' she whispers. She's always there. She sleeps in your womb, curled in a tiny ball in the concave place, where you're organs used to be. Waking you gently, to remind you to keep pressing on. Sitting on your shoulder, like an angel (or the devil) whispering in your ear. Reminding you that you don't need anything. You don't need anyone. You are stronger than the need for food. You are stronger than the hunger pains that are screaming at you. You are stronger than any of that. You are in control, she says. No one can make you eat. You just need to go a little bit further. Watch the number drop. It feels good, doesn't it? Soon the pain will stop. 19 hours down. You're nearly a quarter of the way there. You compare hands. Her's are boney and the skin is thin. You see the intricate web of blue veins crisscrossing against each other. Her finger nails are short and brittle. You keep yours painted to hide the lack of color, she wears hers like a badge.

And you wish to be just like her. She's your role model, the barely-there-pile-of-bones that you seek to emulate. She guides you, teaches you, instructs you. Showing you the ropes of how to reduce yourself to nothing. Giving you tips and tricks. Pushing you beyond the last time. If you can go 24 hours without nourishment, lets go 36.

And should you break the rules. Oh, don't break the rules. There will surely be hell to pay. There will be punishment.

Don't break the rules!

Don't break the rules!

Don't break the rules!

Don't break the rules!

She repeats herself over and over, like a song on repeat for hours.

Don't break the rules!

Don't break the rules!

There will be hell to pay.

Staring into the mirror. Pinching the fat on your face. Sucking in your stomach, reassuring yourself that the bones haven't disappeared. Pulling the flesh at your thighs, wishing to cut it off with a knife. Watching the fat on your arms jiggle. Miss Edie would be disappointed. You aren't doing enough. You aren't good enough. You are NEVER ENOUGH. Must. Do. Better. Pinching, poking, proding, stretching, pulling, punching, manipulating, abusing, hurting, killing, training. One more hour. Just keep going. The pain will cease after awhile, she reminds you again. This will get easier. Make your body cooperate. Remind it who is in control. A body is simply a vessel, something to house your brain, and heart and soul. Something to hide the feelings in, hide the emotions in. Don't let them out, it's not allowed. There is no expression permitted with Miss Edie. She says 'Be Strong!', 'don't give in!'. She is there with you every step of the way, offering a sick sense of encouragement. Telling you that you can do anything you set your mind to.

One more minute.

One more hour.

One more day.

One more pound.

Reduce yourself to nothing.

Take up less space.

Hide.

Disappear.

But she is leading you straight to death.