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She was almost ready to go to bed. Half naked, curled up, remembering how everyone had criticized her before. She could probably get someone to talk her down right now, but the desire had been taken away a while ago.
She hadn't looked in a mirror any more than was really essential, lately. Looking in it made her remember when she was happy with herself. It made her remember dancing in front of it, or squeaking with joy thinking, 'this is my body, this is mine, and I like it.' She could remember the last time she did that clearly. But it'd been almost two weeks. Two weeks she couldn't really stand to look at herself, secretly hated every picture, sat on the scale and hated that, too. Two weeks since she'd smiled when she looked in the mirror other than to make sure she was faking it well enough.
She thought it would pass for a while. "I'm bloated, I'm on my period."
But the period ended, the bloating subsided, and in the end, nothing changed.
She curled up closer in on herself, wishing she had a sweater. Not that she was cold, but it would hide her body. She'd be a little closer to okay if she was the only one that knew she wasn't as skinny as she was a month ago. Or maybe two weeks ago.
It still wasn't good enough. It wasn't good enough because she knew. And if she knew, she'd be damned if everyone else didn't know, too.
She spent the day trying her hardest not to eat. It started after breakfast, too many calories spent on a poptart that probably wasn't worth it anyway. And then she only tried to eat when her stomach wouldn't shut up, when she couldn't stand it anymore. Even then, she was weak. She was in a bad enough mood that she could have eaten less. Tomorrow she planned to. All until she could squeal in front of the mirror again.
Part of her knew that in doing so, she was only starting a cycle. She'd start eating again, probably gain the weight back. But with her metabolism, maybe it would jump on the extra calories for a while.
It was getting later than she thought.
Time always managed to slip away from her at night. It used to be she couldn't stay up past ten, but now it was 1am, and she was still wide awake.
Wide awake wishing she weren't putting herself through this. Wishing she trusted herself enough to eat right, that with some of the stress gone, it would drop off. But she'd done that at the beginning of this mess. Once again, nothing had changed. She still felt ugly to herself. Not necessarily to anyone else. They put up with her for a reason, some of them still wanted nothing more than to say they'd been in her loose jeans. But her being felt ugly.
And if she weren't such a she, maybe she wouldn't care. She'd accept things gracefully, not have a fit, chill... just like she'd been told to before. According to everyone else, nothing was really wrong with her. She just liked the idea of it.
'Tell that to my saftey pins.'
She laughed.
Nothing was really wrong with her then, either. According to them, anyway. She wasn't permanently disfiguring herself, she wasn't in the hospital. It was a phase. It would pass.
Still feeling exposed to the world, she wished this would pass, too. Even with an evening that would make her squeal in joy, she couldn't swallow it. Couldn't accept the fact that she wasn't tainted or terrible.
She finally got up off her bed and shut the door. She didn't really have any hopes about waking and feeling better about herself, or looking any thinner.
That's what everyone wants, right? They want you to be so thin that they can see your bones, they can count them. And even when they worry about you, wonder if you're okay, they still call you beautiful.
And that's the only feeling she wanted to recapture.

Description
She was almost ready to go to bed. Half naked, curled up, remembering how everyone had criticized her before. She could probably get someone to talk her down right now, but the desire had been taken away a while ago.
She hadn't looked in a mirror any more than was really essential, lately. Looking in it made her remember when she was happy with herself. It made her remember dancing in front of it, or squeaking with joy thinking, 'this is my body, this is mine, and I like it.' She could remember the last time she did that clearly. But it'd been almost two weeks. Two weeks she couldn't really stand to look at herself, secretly hated every picture, sat on the scale and hated that, too. Two weeks since she'd smiled when she looked in the mirror other than to make sure she was faking it well enough.
She thought it would pass for a while. "I'm bloated, I'm on my period."
But the period ended, the bloating subsided, and in the end, nothing changed.
She curled up closer in on herself, wishing she had a sweater. Not that she was cold, but it would hide her body. She'd be a little closer to okay if she was the only one that knew she wasn't as skinny as she was a month ago. Or maybe two weeks ago.
It still wasn't good enough. It wasn't good enough because she knew. And if she knew, she'd be damned if everyone else didn't know, too.
She spent the day trying her hardest not to eat. It started after breakfast, too many calories spent on a poptart that probably wasn't worth it anyway. And then she only tried to eat when her stomach wouldn't shut up, when she couldn't stand it anymore. Even then, she was weak. She was in a bad enough mood that she could have eaten less. Tomorrow she planned to. All until she could squeal in front of the mirror again.
Part of her knew that in doing so, she was only starting a cycle. She'd start eating again, probably gain the weight back. But with her metabolism, maybe it would jump on the extra calories for a while.
It was getting later than she thought.
Time always managed to slip away from her at night. It used to be she couldn't stay up past ten, but now it was 1am, and she was still wide awake.
Wide awake wishing she weren't putting herself through this. Wishing she trusted herself enough to eat right, that with some of the stress gone, it would drop off. But she'd done that at the beginning of this mess. Once again, nothing had changed. She still felt ugly to herself. Not necessarily to anyone else. They put up with her for a reason, some of them still wanted nothing more than to say they'd been in her loose jeans. But her being felt ugly.
And if she weren't such a she, maybe she wouldn't care. She'd accept things gracefully, not have a fit, chill... just like she'd been told to before. According to everyone else, nothing was really wrong with her. She just liked the idea of it.
'Tell that to my saftey pins.'
She laughed.
Nothing was really wrong with her then, either. According to them, anyway. She wasn't permanently disfiguring herself, she wasn't in the hospital. It was a phase. It would pass.
Still feeling exposed to the world, she wished this would pass, too. Even with an evening that would make her squeal in joy, she couldn't swallow it. Couldn't accept the fact that she wasn't tainted or terrible.
She finally got up off her bed and shut the door. She didn't really have any hopes about waking and feeling better about herself, or looking any thinner.
That's what everyone wants, right? They want you to be so thin that they can see your bones, they can count them. And even when they worry about you, wonder if you're okay, they still call you beautiful.
And that's the only feeling she wanted to recapture.