Rescued By Your Love

// This is a part of my life that I will never be able to forget. Even now, as I close my eyes and inhale the deep scent of chocolate orange cocoa, the snowflakes compressing on the window ledge, a thick woolly blanket wrapped around my shoulders and the radiator reflecting the heat of my heart, even the vestige of a kiss on my lips. Lips that I could never imagine would kiss mine. His lips. This is how he rescued me. Rescued me from my flaws and hurt ~ from an eating disorder. // ~ Marie McBeanie


2. Bringing it Back...

I let the cool water fall along my shoulders to my toes, my whole body shuddering with goosebumps; if I was shivering then I was doing something right. According to my science classes, it takes energy for your body to warm up to the temperature that it was before, so in essence, I was burning calories. I don't even remember when it started to matter to me that much. But when I looked at myself, I could never see myself changing. 

Ana just crept up on me I guess. It gave me a sense of security about myself that I couldn't let go of. She gave me hope that I could change myself, to be better altogether. To have self respect by learning self control. To show me that I was the only one who had the power over my body. And, so far, she seems to be helping. Anorexia, that is. 

I wouldn't even call myself insecure. I have security in what I can be and simply work with what I have. Don't let me make it sound easy though. Being myself is a constant struggle and, lately, almost anything could break me. I've failed so many times to do what I know can be done and it kills me. I know that I can make this feeling, this fear, of imperfection go away. They call it Atelaphobia - I call it the story of my life.

My hands pace the smooth surface of my naked, soapy skin as I aid the water in cleansing my pours. Small droplets form puddles on the cool wooden floorboard as the silky water runs freely along my newly shaved legs. Wrapping a large purple towel around my soaking limbs, I take in the smell of the creamy lavender washing detergent as the liquid on my chest was absorbed. 

Before I left the bathroom, my eyes averted to a small corner in the left side of the bathroom where a glass scale sat. I stood frozen and undecided as to whether to face the anguish of weighing myself. My soul gravitated to the general area of the small scale. As my toe made contact with the stone cold layer, I felt the pressure increase below me. It was unlikely that I would ever be able to smash the small contraption but I couldn't get my mind off of the thought. To be honest, I was too big to have an eating disorder.

As I looked upwards, my reflection in the mirror caught my attention. My naked body seemed bloated and swollen with my greedy longings. The time passed swiftly as I watched  the numbers on the scale increase. 7...8...9...8... finally settling on 7:9 3/4. 7 stone 9 and three quarters, almost 7:10. I shuddered at myself. Disgusted. I'm disgusting. Walking out of the room, I knew what I did. I needed a fast or something. I was just so greedy. A pig. And even they can stay away from obesity. 7 stone. I needed to be 7 stone. 

My mother had a rant at me from downstairs as I called out that I wouldn't be eating tonight. She threatened to take me to a psychiatrist but I wasn't as phased as I used to be. Before all of this really kicked in. It was the same threat that she had been using for almost a year now. Plus, what could she do? I was leaving for college tomorrow to live with Ana in the comfort of my own apartment. 

Hearing the familiar soft footsteps coming up the staircase, I rolled my eyes as I proceeded to moisturise my face, ignoring her calls to come downstairs, dismissing her accusations of selfishness. And even if I was, it was far too late for any change. My mothers dark hazel eyes were tired, faint with a light streak highlighting her iris, worn down with the stress of bringing up a child that was as stubborn as I had been.

There wasn't much she could say to encourage me that I was the right size, that I was special or perfect. It just seemed all to easy coming from her. You can't say much to a daughter who can fit easily into your maternity wear, who's been a size six all her life and after 4 pregnancies can still be size ten. Not that I can possibly blame anyone but part of me will never be able to forgive my family for their faults.

From childhood, I was always the fat one, even when I wasn't. The one who had, has, chubby cheeks and large thighs. Fatta - that was me. And it wasn't personal, everyone had their names. But just normal, you know, the usual, random family names. I never really had any bad feelings until I began to care about myself, when self conciousness kicked in a teenage level. That's when I met Ana. Through weight loss strategies to dieting and then My Pro Ana. The blogs became my life and what I needed to get through the day, because other people understood and could help. Not that I asked for it. I felt to large to even be on the websites. I would have probably been ridiculed.    

Dragging on my pyjamas and brushing my teeth, I plaited my soft, shoulder length hair and plugging in my earphones, drifting sleepily away to the sound of Maroon 5.

Tomorrow would be my new beginning of freedom. Liberty. For me, for Ana.

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