The tears trickled down her cheeks, glistening with pain. Why couldn’t she just stop? If she stopped, the sickness would never come. The overriding feeling of nausea would stop. Oh, how she wanted to digest it, swallow it, enjoy it… but she couldn’t.
There was no good reason. It wasn’t because she was unhappy with how she looked because she was beautiful. I could see it and she knew it too, in her heart.
She wanted to love it again but instead it made her stomach churn and head spin so she would just leave it. Leave it there on the china plate. And just like that, everything just fell off her. Her body shrunk, eyes and face shallow, ribs glistening at every breath. People complimented her, commented on it… thinking it was on purpose.
At first, she’ll tell you she liked it, being just that little bit smaller. But nothing could stop the water flowing in her time alone. The constant rocking back and forth on the wooden floor, no one ever hearing. Except,
there was one,
her beautiful mother.
She wanted to stop her tears; she wanted to see the beautiful smile light up her face again, instead of the nights full of unrequited sleep. But no one could help. No doctor, no test could explain the nausea and churning that sent her body into havoc, the want for leaving bed almost gone completely.
Oh, how she wanted to taste it again but the consequences weren’t worth it so she just stopped. Stopped wanting, stopped trying to get her body to love her back. She just… gave up.
She never understood why she deserved this suffocating infirmity, when all she wanted was for it to go away. To leave for good.
And then, one day, there was someone. Someone who could help, like, actually help. They could make it go away. Slowly she gained control again, her eyes began to smile, her ribs became shy and things no longer fell.
Every so often it comes back, niggling in the depths of her stomach, and in the very depths of her soul, the dread begins to fill. For fear of losing herself within herself. And then it’s gone, sometimes quickly, sometimes longer, but it always goes.
She will forever ponder its return.
Anon.