In The Process

Chapter 1

I don't know what it is that you've done to me
But it's caused me to act in such a crazy way
                 ~SWV; Weak

"Momma I'm tired of doing this, it's not fun anymore" I complained while looking in the mirror at my hair making sure it was perfect.

"I don't care what you're tired of doing, if it weren't for you I would have a man and be making money all the time as a model but since I had you that all went out the window" She said with no emotion which made me want to go somewhere and cry.

"Sorry momma"

"You always sorry little girl, I wish you would just stop talking sometimes and just do what I say and we would be okay" She stands up and walks out as I sit and think about how many times we go throw this. Maybe I should just stop complaining all the time and just do what she wants.

I always think about when I was younger before I have to go up. I am really tired of doing these modeling competitions, they're nothing special, just local girls coming together and trying. This is what my mother wished her mother did with her when she was my age, she just doesn't get that this isn't exciting to me anymore, maybe when I was younger but I'm growing up. I'm going to turning 16 in a couple of months, she needs to let me grow up and be who I want to be.

"Fatima come here now" My mother shouts from the living room and I go see what she wants

"Yes mother" I said making my way in there with her

"Well I just wanted to let you know that there is a competition this weekend, so you know the schedule for preparation week." She says with no emotion shooing me away not even glancing my way.

I venture back to my room and sit on my old run-down ragged bed and take out the paper with my schedule on it.
When it gets close to the contests my mom makes me go on an extensive diet which I hate, she knows but she still makes me do it.
It consists of telling me when I can eat and what I can eat and when I have to go to the bathroom to throw up what it is that I just ate. I really hate it and I know that it is unhealthy but I can't get around doing it because she says that she will know if I followed the schedule. I'm not a big girl by far, I am a petite girl with a stature of five feet and ten inches, I have naturally long curly hair that my mother makes me keep straightened and always done to a tee. I have beautiful brown skin, due to my mother being Egyptian and my father being Moroccan, so they blessed me although they didn't.

My father being absent all my life and my mother never loving me and just about hating me. I have so much resentment towards them that it is unbelievable, sometimes I wish that my father never left. I always dream about what it would be like, him loving me, playing with me, and just seeing me grow up and standing up to mother so she wouldn't treat me like she does. Then I think about how I'm wasting time thinking about the inevitable, which is my life.

"Fatima come eat your dinner, it's on the table." My mother yells out and I leave my room and enter the kitchen just to see a piece of bread and cheese sitting on a plate waiting for me.

"Mom where is the rest of the food"

"Well I felt that if you had less to eat, you would have less to take care of later. And I know how much you hate doing that." She said smirking wickedly at me while fixing herself a hefty plate of Kusherie, knowing that is one of my favorite meals.