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I did not ask for this body, I do not want it.

When I look in the mirror I feel a powerful cognitive dissonance. I have to be – I must be looking at something other than myself.

People say it is just a body, but it isn’t. It is the only physical representation of my entire self. It is the one – the only – thing tying me to this earth, which is not a place I often want to be.

If I can scrape the fat off my bones, then I can disappear, sink right through the cracks, and fade into the woodwork of life. Sometimes I fantasize about melting, or burning, or dissolving.

Instead I starve.

I cannot offer any deep insights into my body or my mind. I don’t know why I hate the feeling of food in my stomach. Why the only times I eat are when I’m in full binging mode.

I would like to offer up some counterpoints to the common myths surrounding eating disorders: I do not want to be beautiful. I do not want to look good in a bikini. I do not want boys to look at me.

In fact, I would prefer that nobody looks at me. I have come to the conclusion I’m almost certainly asexual, which I can’t pretend doesn’t influence my isolation from the “sexual” aspects of this – of my body.

I did not ask for this body, and no matter what I do, I cannot shrink my body, force it into a prepubescent frame, where I am free of the long fingers of sex and of the realities of growing up.

It’s not for lack of trying.