Today I was told I look like a 12-year-old boy by a 60-year-old male. As a compliment, of course.

Anorexia took that and ran with it. Of course that’s a compliment. The average 12-year-old boy weighs 88 pounds, thank you!

I am not so sure.

But it keeps repeating.

“You blend right in with all the high school runners, I keep thinking you’re one of them. ”

Anorexia is ecstatic.

I am exhausted. It’s not the goal. It’s not the goal to lose weight. It’s not the goal to lose more weight.

I am so exhausted though I can feel myself latch on to these words. I can’t help it. I’m fighting so hard to not let these kinds of things motivate me in the wrong direction– stop feeding the bad wolf–but it’s been on repeat all day and it feels like my brain is so easily tricked and willing to jump ship.

I don’t want to jump the ship. But when this happens it feels like anorexia owns the situation and I have to follow or I will be unloved.

It’s not true, that is not true.

I am telling myself, but I don’t believe it.