I sit there listening to Ana's Song by Silverchair and I remember a different me from years ago. I can imagine how things could have been different. Self control was effortless back then. I would drop several pounds a day. Life just didn't matter.
If things had gone differently, I could see myself somewhere beautiful. I would be in a large house with giant glass windows, and outside would be green pines blanketed in a ghostly white. It was almost as if the snow created a different reality, a reality where I could draw in the lines, and color in my world with crayons, but I liked the white. In fact, I loved it.
I would sit in an old chair in that large room, curled in on myself, wrapped in something worn and ragged but still pretty. It would be an off white blanket, crocheted, and would wrap just over my sharp collar bones and fragile shoulders. A fire would throw flickering lights and shadows over the wall behind me, and even right next to the fire, a simple breeze would make me shiver.
"Come outside," he would call.
He would hand me a coat and I would pull on another pair of snowflake patterned tights, but I would still drown in my own clothes. Inside the thick walls of an extra jacket, I would be almost nothing. I would be a frame to hang the fabrics across, and somehow, I would only just hold everything up.
The door would open, a cold blast hitting me in the face. It would be refreshing. I would watch my tiny footprints appear behind me in the snow, and compare the white of the snowflakes against my own skin. I would look like porcelain, smooth and delicate and somehow, at home in the freezing wonderland.
"Over here," he would call to me.
I would run, not even sinking in the snow. I would be so light I would flit across the ground, making strokes in the snow like a paintbrush across a painting.
Suddenly, the ground would fall out from under me and I would fall, fall, fall, right into the arms of my beloved. I would drift through the air like one drifts through a dream, carried on the breath of a wish.
With a soft pat I would be in his arms, and he would say to me, "For a moment it was as if you were flying. It's no wonder either, you weigh almost nothing." And just like that he would let me down.
If things had gone differently, I could be weightless right now, but there is still time. In time, I will be weightless. I can still learn that food is nothing. It does not control you, it does not force itself into you, and ignored, it cannot weigh you down. In time I can learn to say no to food, and lose day by day. The time will pass quickly, the progress will be drastic. My dream may just be, a future reality.
"Never give up on a dream just because of the time it will take to accomplish it. The time will pass anyways."