All My Old Writing.

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

I do okay in school. I usually don’t study unless I have a huge test. I always do my homework poorly, because most days I’m tired and my hand starts to shake.  I have to lay down for as long as an hour for the migraines to subside, and even then my head throbs. Sometimes I throw up in the bathroom because I just feel so sick. I look at the white-washed toilet bowl and my stomach flips and tumbles. Then the next thing I know, I’m trying to get the taste of vomit out of my mouth. 

I’ll retire to bed, changing into the clothes that used to fit me two months ago. I’ll look in the mirror. I lift up my shirt and see my ribs poking out. It disgusts me, my body. But not the way it used to. A few months ago I hated my body because I thought I was fat. I was so stupid. I never saw what throwing up did to me. I only saw the few pounds that started to disappear every week. Now I’m scared to see how little on anything is on my body. ‘m literally skin and bones.

I’ll go to sleep, my stomach churning and rumbling. I lay on my back staring at the cheap, plastic glow-in-the-dark stars I put on my ceiling. Every night I wish on every single one of those stars that I’ll get better.

In the morning, the gagging will get worse. I’ll rush to the bathroom to throw up and brush my teeth with my eyes closed. My gums have a greenish tinge. I’ll get dressed in the few clothes that I’ve been able to sew smaller. Sometimes, if mom’s not at work yet, I’ll eat breakfast for her sake. And it take everything for me not to throw up. I’ll go upstairs again, lay on the bed to recover my strength. Then, I’ll throw up again. And again. Sometimes it seems like I’ll live like this forever, but I know I can’t and won’t live like this anymore.