I truly am. My hands shake. My stomach aches. My mind grows fuzzy.
I desperately desire to consume sustanence, yet I am unable to. Everything turns to ash before I taste it. Before I can savor it. Before I can find comfort in the simplest of bits.
I can pick up the smallest thing. It will be so tiny with barely any value to it, and I can not eat it. The voices taunt me.
“You are too large as is. You can do without.”
“You do not need that. Walk away…”
“Do you really want to eat that?”
And on and on and on, the list goes.
My hands shake. I want to eat. But I can not. I am starving myself. Depriving myself.