To Disappear, To BE Seen

Apple. Candy. Take a salad. Go on a diet, they say. And I do— with my whole soul, my whole heart. I don’t eat. I don’t sleep, thinking of food. Knowing that if I take one bite of that cake, I might puke. Be more skinny. Be more feminine. Be more beautiful. Fit the standards. BE THE STANDARDS. But is it really a standard if I lose myself to reach it? Lose my spark, my soul— my sanity? God made food to glorify Him. But this feels like a lie. A performance. A path to success paved in starvation. But what kind of success asks me to disappear to be seen? I think of relapsing. Of overeating. Over and over. I hate it. I truly despise it. “Get skinnier.” “Your stomach is the worst.” “Your face, too.” Voices in my mind: Stop eating. Just stop. Why, WHY are you still alive? My mind races— What if I breathe in breathe out and let the pain sink deeper? Would they see it then? Would they finally notice? Would they realize the struggle, the silence, the love I tried to give— and the love I was begging to receive? Maybe, just maybe, emptying myself is the answer. But no one cares. Not really.