Читать книгу Raw: The diary of an anorexic - Lydia Davies - Страница 8

Email from a friend

Lydia you look hungry! You would look so much nicer with a bitta weight on you x x

My identity became my eating disorder, and my eating disorder was my identity. I looked in the mirror and could not believe how thin I had got. I gazed at my perfect legs, ran my blue fingers over my protruding ribcage like a piano. My face was sunken, my cheekbones like daggers. The largest part of my body was my haunted eyes, which stared back at me in the mirror in a state of pure amazement and triumph at what I had achieved. I bought a pair of size-four jeans which dangled around my stick-like legs, and hung so loose around my waist and bottom that I had to wear three pairs of tights and a pair of leggings under them just to keep them on. My hip bones poked out through my clothes, my stomach was concave and my elbows sharp as knives. My breasts were completely non-existent, and even a child’s bra sat inches away from my chest. Even my knickers didn’t fit, as I no longer had a bottom. They hung limply off me and resembled a loose nappy. Yes, to you this may all sound extremely unattractive, but I felt absolutely stunning. I did not look real, I looked like some strange mystical creature, and that is what I felt like, on a trip away with the fairies, deep in a world of fantasy. In contrast, though, I felt fearful. Fearful of death at times, but then when I was feeling euphoric I could not care less. Such a mix of these powerfully contrasting feelings is almost impossible to describe unless you have been through this yourself. Even then, though, I cannot say that other people felt the same. The beautifully haunted world that I was living in was miles away from anyone else and everything else.