𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 was raised from the ground up knowing nothing but comparison and perfection.
She compared herself to her successful parents, supermodel sister, and glamorous friends. Instead of love, she harbored a raging jealousy for nea...
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S i m o n e
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I can't decide what is more miserable in the winter, New York City or Paris.
But right now, as I stuffed my hands in my pockets, bitterly shuffling across the street with Nico beside me in significantly fewer layers, I decided that New York was worse.
I got back 2 days ago.
I didn't want to see the living room, I didn't want to see the painting gone. Despite how much I hated the events it brought me, it was still a comfort. I found comfort in the art.
Maybe I'd ask for a copy printed one day.
Regardless, I stayed in my bedroom nearly the entire time yesterday. Kathy called me almost the second I finished showering, talking about some modeling opportunity for Maison Margiela in a week. And just because Father kept threatening to sell the house if I didn't work in all those texts he'd sent, I said yes.
I Door-dashed food, sushi for lunch, and a sandwich for dinner. For breakfast, I revived the old routine of getting coffee at the bodega down the street. I got a chop cheese while I was there, but could only stomach a few bites.
Each bite with the mushy melted cheese made me feel more nauseous.
Some fucked up part of me was genuinely convinced I'd see Mira and Mother and Ella-Rose and Ryu at the store and they'd see how bloated I'd been recently from the eating. They'd see and laugh and poke my stomach and ask questions, just like when I was younger.
But I was being irrational. And I need to be mature.
I started looking for a therapist, but gave up on the search halfway through and instead went on Reddit, reading sad stories about people who've experienced the loss of a loved one due to anorexia. Reading how much the deceased ones were loved makes it easier to convince me people would also be sad if I died.
