the confessions of an anorexic
Behind the Bathroom Stalls
When You Don’t Look Like A Model
(But Really, Really, Really, Want To)
Taking a glance in the mirror should not be torture.
It should not be a pain to brush your hair, to apply lip gloss.
It’s exactly like that for me. Tears at the sight of myself.
My thighs are too big. My cheeks puncture into my nose. I can not see my feet when I look down.
In other words, I’m fat.
I’ve clearly spent too much time eating ice cream bars while I should be studying. The gloom of empty Dorito bags stuffed under my bed don’t help, either.
I sigh. If I was granted one wish, it would be to weigh less. To have the looks of Taylor Swift. Possibly even one of those Sears models.
Pitter patter pitter patter.
Too big. Too fat. Too big. Too fat.
I plop down on my bed, my weight sagging me down on my mattress. Hands clenched together, I glare at Mother Nature.
If there was one thing I hated besides my appetite, it was rain.
Hated the way it cascaded down the windows, sprinkling puddles and dirt in every direction.
But I didn’t hate it because of the way it clouded the world over in a strange kind of mist, but because it reminded me of the day. The day Dad left.
The way he and Mom had argued for months was endless, if I do say so myself. They screamed. They threw. They cursed. They cried.
Until finally, Dad left. Just like that, one rainy morning, he slammed the door to our hearts shut.
He ran away from life. From us. From me.
“It’s raining.” My younger sister, Elle, sticks her head in the doorway of my bedroom.
“I noticed,” I retorted. I look away from her slim, symmetrical figure. Every time I find myself with her, I think of unwelcome memories of my father. I hate my father. He is selfish and stupid.
“Um...well, we’re having pizza, if you want…” Her voice trails off. She seems uncertain in me. I tilt my head back just enough to shoot her an eyeroll.
“No way,” I snap. “I’m fat enough already.”
“You’re not fat.”
“You’re just saying that, Elle. I think we both know the truth,” I reply. Why can’t I be skinny like her? Why can’t I be perfect like her? Elle’s blue eyes bore into my head in confusion.
“Okay. I’ll tell Mom...that you’re not hungry. Okay?” She says, offering a smile regards my cold tone. I flash her a flakey one in return.
“Whatever,” I murmur under my breath after she leaves the room.
Brat sister.
Out of plain boredom, I scoop up my phone. My fingers slide across numerous pages as I through my endless apps until I find MyStory, my recent obsession. MyStory was basically your typical social media-you could post pictures, videos chat, video call-you name it, it was in there. You could say it was a combined version of Instagram, Twitter, Snapchat, except a million times better and fun packed.
I scroll through my 20,000+ follower feed, giggling over my friends attempt at a selfie. Out of nowhere, a chat message pops up from one of my closest friends, Mally. Hey, did you see Brittany Miller’s recent’s interesting was her almost instant message.
I gulped.
Brittany Miller?
She and I hadn’t exchanged contact in a while, even though we knew exactly who we were. We just chose not to acknowledge each other. In other words,we hated each other. End of subject. There was nothing more to it.
Brittany was popular.
I was popular.
She was mean.
I was nice.
She was really pretty.
I was a fat ugly cow.
Her face that beamed with beauty. Dark eyebrows, stunning hazel eyes. Looks I could only dream of. But despite her halo of blond curls a dark secret lurked deep in her that few people were aware of, like me.
We were the few people who know who Brittney really was. Behind her perfect, angelic face, lies her secret demon. She was judgemental and cruel. She was rude and mean. She hated all those imperfect people.
She hated me.
I tried to steer away from her at all times possible, steer away from that one girl who had once made fun of my imperfections.
It was study hall when I first had my true encounter with the real her, and I had run off to the girls room. My lockets metal strands had become to unravel, and I was desperate to fix it before the period was over. I locked myself in a stall and fumbled with the metal for a few minutes, before tiny clicks paraded into the bathroom.
Who else would come along besides Brittany and her stupid gang of sidekicks. Perfect timing.
Through the small crack in the stall I eyed them as they began to apply their eyeliner, all exchanged form the same tube.
“Oh, I love the blush you used, Brittany!” I heard one of the girl’s squeal as Brittany giggled in return.
“I know, it’s so on fleek!” said Brittany. The girl beamed in pride. Must be such an honor to be talked to by Brittany.
“Way better then that other freaks. You know, the one who always wears that necklace with the heart shaped locket on it?” Another one of the chickens added.
My heart lurched. I was wearing a heart shaped locket. I was the freak.
“Yeah,” agreed another,“That girl is so messed up. Like, she pretends like she’s cool or whatever, but she’s like, a dork.”
Brittany laughed, pursing her lips as she layered on ten sticks of lipstick that she doesn’t need because she already has lip goals. “Huh, yeah. Have you noticed she’s been getting a little chubby lately? AKA, really fat? She seriously has five neck rolls, I’m not even kidding. And have you seen her thighs? They’re just...ew. Just ew.”
The other girls chorused in agreement as they crowded around Brittany. “Isn’t her name Lauren?” One piped up. “Or is it the FAT hog?”
“Um, hello Cassie? It’s both! Lauren the fat hog!” Brittany corrected her friend. My rubbery fingers let go of my necklace. The whole world seems to stop in time as thoughts swirl around a puzzle. Every breath, I can hear. Every footstep, I can hear. Every word, I can hear. Time has frozen.
So they were talking about me.
So I was the fat hog.
So I am overweight.
So I do need to take a look on that diet website.
I don’t think I had ever felt so alone in my life at that moment. I didn’t feel anything, except the way the rocks in my stomach roll over. They file out of the bathroom, but I stay.
I stay on that toilet and I crouch and I cry and cry cry and cry and cry and cry and cry until no tears are left.
My eyes zoom into my phone, and I stare at the letters until they don’t look like anything except a silly saying. The words dig deep into my mind. Deep enough for me to forget life, and to remember. To remember that I wasn’t good enough.
That I wasn’t thin enough.
Brittany might never remember those words she said that day, but I would.

Keep Reading

Chapter 2

When You Do Something You Don’t Want To But Do It Anyways

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