Wasted

A disappearing act, the act of becoming invisible, is, in fact, a visible act, and rarely goes unnoticed.

both a need to see that I appeared, on the surface at least, acceptable, and a need for reassurance that I was still there

My focus on minutiae calmed me. It was a simple refusal to look up at the larger world, which always seemed to dilate my pupils, making me squint and shy from the glare

If I wasn't real,” Alice said—half laughing through her tears, it all seemed so ridiculous—“I shouldn't be able to cry.”

The parallels in my approach to food and my body are striking:

ulimia, feasting on food and then throwing it back; anorexia, refusing food and feasting on hunger itself.

I realized that I simply would not do.

Some people who are obsessed with food become gourmet chefs. Others get eating disorders.

And so I went through the looking glass, stepped into the netherworld, where up is down and food is greed, where convex mirrors cover the walls, where death is honor and flesh is weak. It is ever so easy to go. Harder to find your way back.

One's worth is exponentially increased with one's incremental disappearance.