Hated

Letters

I wake up to the door slamming shut. I don’t have the strength to fight with my mom today. We fight almost everyday, and I don’t have the energy to scream my lungs out when she can’t remember anything the next day.

Jumping off my bed, I glide over to the door and turn the lock. I made my mom buy me a lock when one of her “boyfriends” came home with her one night. They were both drunk, but that is not excuse for him to walk in on me changing. My mom didn’t care about me, or what happened, but still got me a two dollar lock after weeks of arguing.

After locking the door, I sweep over to the computer, sitting on my desk surrounded by papers covered in words all true to me. I had written the letters, but the words themselves did not come from me. They came from girls on the website. They called themselves The Barbies. Perfect little things that can’t stand a single flaw. Being me, I am their worst enemy. I bet they wish I would crawl in a shallow grave and die. When did they get into my head? They didn’t. I did, and I went a little too deep.

The website was made months before I found it. I had no idea I was on it, that I was even important to them. That I was something. I was more than something to them. I was the thing everyone wanted to stay away from. Everything they hated to be.

Barbies Flaws Don’t Exist. The weirdest name for a website ever made, yet it fit them perfectly. It made so much sense for them, but why was I on it? Yeah, they go to my school, and I saw them around the halls, but why me?
The barbies are 5 white chicks with stick-like bodies. They are so perfect, they don’t even eat lunch. They drink a bottle of water, sometimes less, trying to show off to their football boyfriends. Their huge, masculine boyfriends. They are ungrateful for every little thing, even their boyfriends. I would kill to have a life like that.

I close my eyes and try to picture a life as a Barbie. Picture a life as perfect as everyone else’s seems to be. A life without the scars piling up on my legs. A life where I can eat whatever I want and lose weight at will. A life that will never exist.

Becoming tear-eyed, I flip over the notes I wrote. Ones shootout at me, begging me to read them over and over again until the words clear away the fog surrounding my head. The same words float around, trying to make their way into the most sensitive part. Wanting the words to stick in my head, I used my best writing possible.

 

Wow. Just look at how fat you are. Why don’t you look in the mirror for once, or are they all broken from your ugliness?

 

You’re so FAT! How can a person even get that big? How do you manage to shove that much food in your fat face? God. What a fatass!

 

How can you possibly get that fat? I mean. God. Don’t you know when to stop eating or is it some kind of disease? I feel sorry for you.

 

Oh my god. You are SO FREAKING FAT!

 

Oh sweetie, I think it’s diet time. By diet I mean if you stop eating for a month MAYBE you will lose a couple of pounds. New cloths and a haircut could do you some good too.

 

Fat. Fat. Fat. All I can see is FAT. I can’t even look at you anymore. Don’t look me in the eyes at school. I don’t want to go blind.

I start to cry. My cuts burn worse than they ever have before. If I wasn’t so dizzy I would make more, though I wouldn’t use my dull nails. I would stab my leg with a kitchen knife over and over again. I wouldn’t care if someone saw. I wouldn’t care if my scars showed through my shorts. I. Wouldn’t. Care.

Stop. Just. Stop. What am I going to do with you if you cut every time you get your feelings hurt? This is the business sweetheart. You have to go through all of this to be skinny. But you can make it. Trust me. I am your best friend, remember? Don’t forget little old me, Ana. I will be here til the end, and don’t make it come sooner than planned. You have to at least be skinny for your funeral.