purgatory

1/30/2026

(content warning: eating disorder, self-harm, suicide ideation)

there’s a certain aesthetic to it

collarbones that could hold water. top surgery incisions stretched over ribs. slim hips clad in lace. thighs splattered with carvings of hearts and insults. legs bruised up to the knee and down to the ankle.

i coveted this look for so long; it’s the epitome of late-2010s grungy tumblr thinspo, a set of visuals that heavily impacted my sensibilities during my formative years. i used to have a folder on my phone containing a few hundred images of this nature. now i have it. it’s... strange.

i feel like i’m in limbo again. “i eat too much to die and not enough to stay alive. i’m sitting in the middle, waiting” - the intro from 4st 7lb, taken from a documentary on an anorexic who later passed, plays in my head constantly. i want to recover, but not enough to commit. i want to starve, yet now i know i’m doing a disservice to myself and those i care about. i can’t win.

i intended to end my life at the age of eighteen, and then i didn’t. in the aftermath, i felt like the hourglass of my life had simply run out yet wasn’t flipped - it was stillness, passivity, a life lived too long. i think i finally managed to turn it over again, but now i’m drowning in the sands, each grain slipping through my fingers like all the opportunities i fail to take.

there is a comfort in being as thin as i am, in tracing my skeleton whenever i feel anxious. there’s also a sense of shame and profound disgust. on one hand, i can’t believe i let it get this bad; on the other, holy fuck i look terrible. i know this is unattractive, yet the mere idea of weight gain still terrifies me. the contradiction is infuriating.

everything is contradictory. i’m supposed to communicate, but then i’m told i’m making them feel like a failure. i’m told they like the sound of my voice, then they never listen. yesterday, my therapist said it was nice to see me light up about my interests after i went on a tangent about a hypothetical video essay i’d like to make. i think that’s the first time anyone’s enjoyed what i had to say in god knows how long.

i’m hungry and nauseous, tired but restless, guilty yet defensive, a whole fucking mess. i’m so sick of it all. i like looking forward to the future in times like these, though now i know that the concept of time passing scares them, i shouldn’t even think about it. i don’t know if i want to die, but i don’t want to be here right now

~april