Free My Secret Life by Leanne Waters Page A

surface level, I just didn’t question it. Whatever it was, it made my life easier and more manageable. But let’s be realistic about this. I knew then as I know now, along with the rest of the human race, that a person should eat to live. My logic was not so forgiving in that sense and it obviously did not escape my attention that it wasn’t normal to live as I was attempting to. I must have known this or else I wouldn’t have been so desperate to conceal this secret life of mine.
    Along with this, I was not so foolish to believe that everyone else lived and worked in the pain and discomfort that had become the norm for me. All memory of how my body should feel had disappeared. I was in a constant state of discomfort, to put it lightly. What most recognise as hunger pains were now excruciating and one of the only sensations I physically felt anymore. It felt like I was eroding from the inside out. Someone had carved a hole in my stomach and filled it with air. Eating steadily changed from something I would prefer to avoid doing to an unimaginable act of weakness. There were days I was convinced if I put anything into my mouth, I would feel it moving through me like an alien intruder that my body was trying to resist. I would feel it at the back of my mouth, chewed and fully-prepped to launch an aggressive assault. I would feel it creeping down my throat, building momentum and stealth. More than anything else, I would feel it grounded to the bottom of my once divinely empty stomach, rotting and stewing. It would begin an assault from that advantageous position and infest its way into my bloodstream, my defenceless cells and the bodily walls that shielded and protected it from being ripped out immediately. It was using my own body against me and as a result, it became all too easy for my mind to register that food was the enemy.
    The most powerful weapon against it was, quite simply, prevention. Once in my stomach, there were limited cures and the only degree of safety to be upheld was through enduring resistance. I would not do that to myself; she wouldn’t let me, she cared too much. So I would not eat and that was final.
    Through such justifications, it gradually became easier and easier to suppress the hunger pains and even tolerate the stabbing intensity of a truly empty stomach. I soon found myself enjoying the pain. It would spark in the lowest point of my stomach, light like a match and blaze until I thrashed in flames. Then it would tear north, shredding my sides and scorching beneath the skin that enveloped my chest. It was more than hunger. My insides screamed at a deafening pitch, unable to fight the devouring emptiness. Soon it was like my body turned against me in desperation. The hollow sting that I nurtured so affectionately began to eat away at me instead. It fed off my muscles and biological insulation. I thought it a most fair trade. The person who lived in my head was the most important priority now. If she was the predator, I was happy for my body to be the prey. I would permit her to feed until fully cultivated. In doing this, I knew I could finally satisfy that impossible hunger which had gripped me so many months before.
    Anything I had to give in return for this seemed insignificant; whatever it was, it would be a small sacrifice by comparison. One forfeit made, for example, was bodily. I’m sure that must sound very strange but constantly being cold was something I had to adjust to rather quickly. With little or no nutrition to thrive on, my body temperature dropped rapidly. It wasn’t the same as getting a draught from an open window; the cold had seeped into my bones and stayed there like an anchor on the seabed. It would not be moved and I would feel almost no warmth whatsoever. My hands and feet felt it the most. While no amount of layering could ease the piercing ice that ate at my toes, my fingers couldn’t feel to grip anymore. It had become too painful for my hands to do most things