An: Hey guys, this story is about my future daughter and her point of view. I realize if I keep starving myself I will die, so, this is her story if I keep on the path that I'm on now. My eventual death and a lifetime of her being exposed to the world of Ana and Mia. This will be her legit name, and since you all know mine, I'll use my name too. Every other character is fictional (to some extent). –Angel

Mothers Of Perfection

Food.

A simple and complex word all wrapped up into one, a noun, enemy and friend. Something to be hated and loved; an unfortunate savior and courteous obstruction. The meaning itself is simple and straight forward-a substance used to provide the human body with biological nourishment and needed enzymes. The psychological meaning depends on the person you talk to; different genders, races, body types, and even social groups find different meanings to the word 'food'.

As for one woman I know, food is the epitome of horror, betrayal, and angst. Who is this woman that sits at the table only to pick at the greens and scrunch her nose at anything over one hundred calories?

My Mother.

Her pregnancy with me was long, cold, and hard for her. She had to eat.

Eat.

Food.

Fat.

Disgust.

Her thoughts must have clouded her judgment tremendously; but her need for me was intense, so, she ate to keep me and her alive. And when I say she ate ENOUGH to keep US ALIVE. That's exactly what I mean. She ate only enough to keep me and her going, healthy? No. Absolutely not. I'm lucky to have been born a healthy, normal-term, six pound baby girl. After I was born, starvation mode gripped the very core of her being and I grew up watching my mother shrink from skin and bones to pale canvas covering white, sharp, objects poking from her flesh. By seven years old I knew the terms, numbers, and calculations.

Apples=101 calories.

Nuts=25 calories (walnuts)

Spinach=42 calories (6 oz.)

Pro Ana Mia= you want to be skinny? Learn. Live. Love the ways of Ana.

1 Apple= 6 small meals throughout the day. Nothing more than water.

Water= Your friggin best friend. Zero calories.

My head spun with my mother's teachings.

You want to be skinny baby, not like other girls. Average girl, average hips, don't be like that Lettie, learn to adore Ana. I'm teaching you now so when you need her in your teenage years you'll know what to do.

Close your mouth and yell into your pillow, go ahead, I'll wait.

Better now? Good.

Yes, I realize she was doing something VERY morally wrong here but I didn't know that, hell I didn't know what bubbles were made out of yet. (fairy juice was my conclusion at that age.) Before you go off the deep end saying how child services should have intervened or at least taken my mother to treatment; I don't condemn her, she was teaching me what saved and destroyed her life at fourteen. Something so engrained into her very being that it was all she thought about every single moment of the day.

Your head must be reeling, is she Anorexic too? Did her mother die? Did she learn that Anorexia is bad? She learned that right? RIGHT?!

Well, yes and no.

Am I Ana?

Yes.

Did Mom die?

Yes.

Did I learn it's bad?

It's not bad to me people.

I am Ana, but I'm a RECOVERED Ana. Once Anorexic, always Anorexic.

It's true, come on that woman who stands up at those silly health class speeches and tell me you can make her go away completely.

You're lying.

Can you recover?

Yes.

Can you lead a normal healthy life after recovery?

Yes.

But her thoughts in the back of your mind will never leave.

That's fattening you know.

You size WHAT now?

Hm, THAT girl is skinner than you, and HOTTER.

But with guidance and treatment you can fend her off. You CAN recover, but you cannot obliviate her. How do I know? Well let's take a glance at the past, how about starting on May 8? Fifteen years ago, when I was fifteen, exactly a week before mom died.