anorexic - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
She turned around and glanced into her wall-length mirror, something she hadn't done in a very long time. She started at her feet, averting her eyes from her own face. Her feet were bony and thin, like the rest of her body. She let her gaze rise up and she took in her whole body, wincing at the emaciated figure that stared back at her. What had she let herself become? She felt like a hollow shell of her once plump and vibrant self. She had always imagined herself as too big and too plump, even when people told her she wasn't. She stepped onto the scale in front of her and began to weep when she saw the numbers pop up on the digital screen of the scale...87.2 lbs.
Legs thin as twigs, bundled in nothing more than soft, worn skinny jeans. A chest so frail, the bump of each rib was visible underneath the woven cotton and knit. A face so sunken in, the intense outline of his skull was detectable under the pale and bruised skin. What hurt Matthew the most was the gap.
The space between Gilbert's thin thighs, so wide an array of stars could reside there. So wide his knees didn't knock together when he walked. So wide they created a wind tunnel effect each time the breeze picked up.
"How are you?" Matthew would ask every morning.
"Beautiful aren't I?" Gilbert asked smugly, in return and held out his slender arm in such a fashion as if he was an artist showing off some gorgeous piece of artwork.
Long, slender fingers pressed into the reflective glass, caressing the outline of sharp shoulders, thin forearms and the beautiful waves of the torso. Pale, flawless skin wrapped so perfect around the frame of his body, darkening in the areas of prominent shadows. Cheeks sunk in with the promise of high expectations and beauty as well as a slender face of maturity. He knew that secretly they were all jealous of his higher level of perfection and beauty; them with their rolls of ugly, wobbly grease, and him with his strong, polished bones.
She wasn't just thin, she was scary thin. Her clothes were layered and loose to hide the bones that jutted out. But it was so clear just looking at her cheekbones and the skinniness of her hands, this girl was starving herself. I wondered how far she was from needing hospitalization and how far she was from organ failure. It wasn't hard to see that if she just gained just thirty pounds or so she would be beautiful, stunning even. How she was now wasn't even attractive, it was horrifying.
I looked at the big picture and my face crumpled. I was so skinny my knees only touched each other when I forced them to. I wasn't supermodel curvy thin. I was just skin and bone. My bones jutted out each and every way. My hands looked like an old woman's, skinny and bony and my cheekbones looked like they'd been dug out with spades. I looked like an oversized ginger root! I wish I hadn't left the hospital, I needed one right now. My boyfriend always said how attractive I looked. But...I'm not attractive! I'm a horrific monster! I began to cry again. What the hell happened to me? What the hell happened?
Jane cuts the hamburger into quarters, taking a moment to select the smallest one. The other pieces she slides into the garbage. Then she takes the knife once more and carefully cuts the quarter into four more pieces. Again she selects the smallest one, the other three discarded. Already the saliva is pooling in her mouth, how she used to love these burgers. Taking her lunch in her hand she places it on her tongue, letting it sit there, meditating on the flavour. Her swallow reflex comes before she is ready, breaking the spell of her pleasure.
Her eyes fall to the plate, nothing but a few crumbs and ketchup smears. Ketchup means sugar. Sugar means fat. Fat. She feels her heat rate increase, her breathing becomes faster yet more shallow. A minute later she's in the car park jogging around the perimeter, convinced that only by running ten laps can she undo the damage of her "gluttony"...
"Anorexic" was taken as a compliment at that school. In their twisted culture only the sickest girls were rewarded. Starving oneself was admired more than high grades; who needed an "A" when they had cheekbones to die for and wore a size 00? The winners of this battle stalked about like garish skeletons, made bright by make-up, lips painted gaudy shades. They tossed their hair and practiced "come hither" eyes. The thinner they got the meaner they became; whether it was the starvation or the intoxicating new power they held, Grace wasn't sure. She was only sure that she'd never become one of them.
Terry looked on Abigail's face and it broke him to recall how it once was. Her eyes used to glow with her inner beauty, her soft personality that so easily brought her to laugh and show affection. Now her once soft skin was stretched over her skull, her hair so dull and thin. Eighteen years of age and she had the health of someone of eighty or more, her organs packing up one by one. On seeing him she turned her face to the hospital window, her pointed way of showing anger at this forced feeding. The only reason she didn't rip the tubes away was because doing so resulted in being strapped to the bed. "Anorexic" hardly seemed a big enough word to describe what had become of his baby sister.