I remember the first time someone called me fat
Or big-boned, if you will, because God knows we must be politically correct.
It was by my mother ironically
We were shopping, and none of the clothes I wanted seemed to fit.
Too young to understand the fact that I was considered too big by society because they only seemed to make all of the
"cute clothes" for the small girls.
My mother simply said I was "healthy",
Big boned, which meant I wasn't petite, or rather "fragile,
Which would later be continued to describe me
"the tough, big boned girl"
It took me a few years to catch on
Eventually my grandmother said I was big boned and no, it wasn't the fact that she said it,
It was the way that she said it.
In fact, they had all said it in the same way.
Hesitant, as if there was something hiding in the depths of their mouth, hanging on the tips of their tongues, but
Of course it needed to be sugar coated.
I soon learned that big-boned didn't exist.
Big boned simply meant fat.
And fat meant unworthy because why else did only the pretty girls get to wear "cute" clothes?
And thus my eating disorder began.
I wanted to be pretty, I wanted to worthy, I wanted to be the girl who people looked at and wished to be.
I was tired of it only being the other way.
Because after all, the only way to achieve your goal is to work hard and I always was the tough one.
I became a student and Ana became my mentor.
I began searching ways to lose weight,
Simple things like "how to burn calories",
Which exercises lost the most weight,
But then things began to get out of control.
I no longer searched for those ordinary things that could be mistaken for any sane minded human’s search history
Soon my phone was full of incognito tabs that told you how to purge, how many calories were in a mint, and how much
Water to take before a meal to stop from being hungry
Because I never could purge
I'll never know how many countless times I shoved my fingers down my throat, wishing and praying to any God out
There that I could just lose those four freaking marshmallows I ate because Lord knows I can't be a failure at purging, too
I'm already fat, so am I not deemed a failure already?
Once I realized I couldn't purge I soon began to try more...creative methods.
I searched and I found countless of ways to throw up.
The internet can be so handy sometimes
I would shove a toothbrush down my throat and I would pound on my stomach but to no avail
I drank a glass of water with a tablespoon of mustard in it to make myself throw up but nothing.
Took two tablespoons of salt plain
Spun around like a gosh dang fool until I couldn't tell the ground from my mental illness
Falling, and falling, yet never quite reaching the end
Yet still nothing seemed to work.
So I decided I had to approach things in a different way
I began to eat as little as possible,
I even had a mental checklist.
Always check the calories of any meal you may have to order,
If you were forced to eat, only eat the green vegetables because they were mostly water and
Flush the food down the toilet if you have to, just don't eat
And then after a day full of only thinking about food but refusing it the entire time,
I would go to my room, long after everyone else was asleep,
Blissfully unaware of the tragedy playing out right in front of their ignorant eyes
And I would begin to burn off the little bit of fat still clinging to my bones
Sweat beading on my forehead
Legs about ready to give out
Arms weak and nearly limp by my side
Head pounding as the room spun but just one more and I would be beautiful
And once it was done, not when I chose to quit but when my body finally gave out, I would collapse on my bed and
Promptly fall asleep as the room turned and my stomach pulsated
But only on top of the covers, of course
Because if you're cold you automatically burn more calories.
And the next morning I would wake up, and nearly pass right back out
I would swear to myself never would I do that again
But as the dizziness faded and my the buzz in my ears quieted to a faint whisper
I would begin my next lesson with Ana by my side
I would chug water because it was the only thing that made me feel full despite the emptiness weighing down my chest
I would down pills like an addict and pray I didn't die from overdose
But I was already dying so who cared if I sped up the process?
I would take a shower, and God, how I hated them.
Turn the cold on all the way and hot completely off
Try to handle ten minutes because ten minutes meant one hundred calories
And when I finally stepped out, my skin was covered in goosebumps as my body shivered but somehow I felt numb.
And it reminded me painfully of what my life had become
How the hollowness I felt in my heart resembled the hollowness in my eyes and how in every photo I took I never
Seemed to look truly happy
How my sunken cheeks seemed to somehow match the thready pulse in my wrists
And how I nearly fainted that one time walking up the steps with friends because I hadn't eaten more than a handful of food all day
And it was in that moment of thinking back over all I had done did I realize,
I was no longer a student to Ana...
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