No one noticed how skinny you got.
No one said anything when your one-hundred and twelve pound body was 10 pounds lighter because it was
so
slow.
You didn’t say anything about not eating that you expected anyone to catch because you didn’t want them to think any less of you.
You thought you could do it on your own
And you did you solved it all the way back to your original weight and four pounds in bonus points because God do you love extra credit
Except that it was not
Making you
happy.
You started to shrink again.
You did it because it was the only way you could actually control the self-hate- count your worth in calories and pounds slowly shed instead of grades and friendship and the fleeting feeling of being satisfied.
And yes.
You wanted someone to notice.
You wanted them to be worried about you: maybe, like you had, they would catch on to the fact that it was a visual representation of how messed up you were. You wanted them to get help so that you could feel better without having to do anything.
Maybe they didn’t catch on because you were a s***ty anorexic, still eating at meals and still cooking for friends and still pretending to feel good in this too-tight meat suit. It was so sad that your favorite thing, eating, was the one thing you couldn’t do anymore because try as you might you couldn’t be a puker.
Or maybe it was because you were so good at hiding it just like faking a smile you could fake eating enough It only takes 900 calories to look like you stuffed your face. It only takes  a bit of well-phrased skinny shaming to make up for the times you let slip that you wish you could stop eating. No one else was in your room as you spent hours looking at thinspo and calculating BMI and figuring out how skinny you could get befor you would need a hospital.
No one noticed that you were falling apart
No one tried to catch you.

Lie.
You noticed
You were falling apart.
You didn’t try
To catch you.