Giulia Faggiotto - The smoking gun
This body was the cradle of my illness. The red body that I used to hate so much was filling with folds day to day but I wasn’t satisfied and I tore it up, covered it with holes just to make it seem even bigger. And after all it wasn’t that bad. It was my reflection with that body tight on my skin. That was wrong, awful, disgusting. This is the smoking gun of my disorder, the living evidence. And now that I’m holding it in my hands it seems so small, harmless, a simple piece of cloth. A piece of cloth with whom I’ve been fighting since the first moment that I saw it. I didn’t want to wear it and I would forget to fix the holes on purpose in order not to wear it. The mental illness was already in me, many years before, eating up every single part of myself. And this is the proof. This body that I used to hate so much became paradoxically my best friend, symbol and hard evidence of my success, my weight loss, my anorexia.