I believe in a bone fragmented memory

I am 14 years old. I am thinner that I have ever been and I am in the bathtub staring down at my body with the usual feeling of intense alienation. I am full grown; I was full grown by 12. I found this repulsive so I tried to stop it. Now I’m older but smaller…and I only want even smaller. Staring at hipbones  beneath water…beneath skin. I want to see them closer. Really really see them. Are they really there? Are they white? Staring staring….It occurs to me quite suddenly that there is really NOTHING I can do to change the shape of my bones. Bones are solid, right?  ….and wide and thick and strong. They won’t be shrinking well they? I Stare. Immersed in water and complete powerlessness. I am a helpless soul trapped in this uncontrollable bone machine.  Is it true? …at some point there is nothing else you can do?….You can’t go any farther. Right? I begin fantasize about breaking bones and re constructing them. This seems horrible and I shudder and get up. And I dry off.

And I  get better

And I get worse

And at 17 I get hospitalized and diagnosed.

And at 31 I  write this.*

*This is supposed to go along with this drawing . But I can’t get all these bits and fragments of thoughts and images to add up. I know now, that Bones can be damaged to the point that they shrink, and surgeons can and do alter them. But as a kid I didn’t know it. I imagined them as steel. And it’s a good thing I did. It’s a good thing I believed in bones.