The Thin Girl's Door

In my teenage home the door to my room was tucked behind the shadow of the stairwell, facing east. The wood floor in the doorway was warped and would creak when you stepped on it.

If you were a fatty, at least.

That door became a measurement for me. Whenever I stepped in and heard the floor creak, I knew I wasn't good enough. I was heavy; I'd destroy whatever I stepped on with my weight.

My room was connected to another by a shared bathroom. To avoid hearing the creak twice, I took to leaving my room through that passage. But, going through the passage was harsher penance than enduring the floor's derision; if I allowed my own home to mock me, I was truly unfit for the world. I made a pact. The door became The Thin Girl's Door. I'd gone in a fatty, and I wouldn't leave until I was thin.

I left through the passage every day for a year until, finally, the floor no longer complained at my weight. I had bested it. I weighed 96 pounds. That day was the first I stepped through as a Thin Girl and I felt that the world was mine. I hadn't realized that it had been for a long time since - I just had to step up and take it.

The self-control, the perseverance, the strength, self-sacrifice, and endurance of an anorexic are truly unparalleled. The intense work ethic and passion this disorder creates ensure success in any endeavor that the anorexic is truly willing to pursue. These girls die to show their strength, and that is the most noble of paradoxes.