"Just one more pound," I tell myself as I scan every detail of my body in the mirror. Every exposed rib, every sickly bone. Just one more and I'll stop I reassure myself. Deep down I know it isn't true. I keep testing the scale, first in the morning, again the afternoon, again before dinner, again after dinner, and again before bed. I stuff myself with food and excuse myself to the bathroom, with my fingers shoved down my throat I know I've gone too far, but I can't stop. With every dry heave, with every flush, with every sweaty work out I become more obsessed. I find beauty in my pain, the way my body begs for nutrients, the way my stomach growls, the endless pit of hunger.