Expectation is a disease. You know what you want to be, but one stray comment sends you reeling back into unhealthy habits.
It keeps you back from fulfilling your best ideals.
She stared out the window of the classroom, watching the rain catch on the glass and roll down. How can she get beyond the wall that was blocking her?
She just wants to be healthy again. She wants to stop hurting. She wants to stop this spiral of depression that even know is threatening to shatter her body.
She wants to eat again.
Don’t talk to her about pro-ana. She finds the thought disgusting and vile. The overwhelming urge to hurl at the thought might appear more like pro-mia to them, but fuck them.
Why did she have to care so much what they thought?