You wake up to the soft, morning sun shining through your bedroom window at 6am on a Friday. It’s finally the end of the week and this Saturday you’re going to the beach. You slide your smooth, thin legs out of bed and stretch before floating over to the scales with your journal and a pen to record your weight. You’ve been doing a lot of floating lately, not literal floating but you’ve noticed that as you’ve lost more and more weight you’ve become so light on your feet that it’s almost like you’re not even walking. You’re floating. You hop on the scales and are tense and anxious at first but when the scale settles and you see what you’ve been waiting your whole life to see, a genuine smile spreads across your face and all traces of anxiety and stress and worry and depression are gone. You’ve finally done it! You knew you were getting close but only now does the reality of your achievement sink in. After all this time, all this restricting, dieting, starving, running, lifting, lying, binging, purging, hurting, crying, you’ve finally reached your ultimate goal weight. You prance over to the mirror and beam at your reflection. Your collarbone is beautifully prominent underneath your pyjama shirt and you trace it with satisfaction and pride. Your hip bones are visible even through your thin pants, you can count your ribs up to your armpit, and you can see your angular chest bones. Your thighs are worlds apart and your legs have never looked so long. You have never been so thin, so pretty, so beautiful, or so… perfect.
Finally.