Mind Of An Anorexic, Body Of A Failure

I rip the chain from my neck and fumble trying to get my razor out of it's case. The blade always remains hidden beneath my shirt, lest someone question it, and me. As fast as I can, I strip off all my clothes and run to the bathroom. Have I lost or gained today? Ana will punish me if I haven't lost. I will punish myself if I haven't lost. I step onto the scale, trembling. I squeeze my eyes shut and slowly exhale. I can do this. I say to myself, it's just a number, even though I know it's not. I inhale as I stare at the number on the scale. I have neither gained nor lost. I am the same, always the same. I crouch down and lean against the mirror next to the scale. Why am I so fat? How can I not even have lost one lousy pound? I will end up being obese, and then I will die. How can I expect to live in happiness if I am not thin? I run my fingers through my hair and scream in frustration. What will everyone at school think if I am not skinnier? They will hate me even more than they already do. Why can't I just curl up and die? I stand, numb, and step into the tub. I run the water until the tub is full with steaming water, and curl up inside of it. I lift the razor and swipe it across my upper thigh. My horrifically fat, disgusting thighs. They jiggle when I walk and spread huge when I sit down. The draw stares, they are so fat. How have I not noticed years ago how fat they were? Now your hips, Ana whispers. Her voice is not unlike my own, but covered in cobwebs and the dust of bones and shadows. I listen to her, even as I think about what a bitch she i, even if she is my best friend. I doodle on my hips with my razor as I let my blood tell my truths and color the water red. The air smells of metal and bathroom cleaner. It is a smell I am very familiar with. I cut until tears leak out of my eyes. Finally. Feeling, even if it is negative. I only cut to show them I can feel. They think I am without emotion. They are wrong. I float in the water, knowing I will have to get out soon, lest someone find me here and think I have died. I savor the feling of tears on my cheeks, knowing that they will not chase away the dark that is numbness for a while longer.

I stand and drain the water and take an arctic shower. Always cold water, never warm in showers. Cold water in a shower will speed up my metabolism. I don't know where I learned that. Perhaps Ana told me. She tells me many things. I towel off and moisturize. I snatch my razor off the edge of the marble tub and place it in it's case on my necklace. I quickly dress and cast one last glower at the scale before I go. I was supposed to be in study hall ten minutes ago. I will have to be sneaky. I stand in the front hall in my ratty, ripped up, painted on skinny jeans, and Pierce The Veil tank. My hair is too long, and too black, and neither straight nor curly. It falls across my face, hiding me from the world. They call me 'emo' and 'fake'. How can I be fake when I don't even know who I am? How can I pretend to be anyone other than me? I don't understand their accusations. I have done nothing to them. I stare at my red Vans. My skin is too dark. Maybe if I were white and born in America, they would like me. I suppose America The Brave still fears what it doesn't know. I sigh, and know that it is time to go. I run out the door and sprint the two blocks to the highschool. Poker face in place, they will never know how they've hurt me. I refuse to let them. I pass a mirror in the hallway. I pause and stare at the girl looking back at me. She is all skin and bones, tall and lanky, but at the same time, I see a girl who is too fat to live, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. She is me, and she is already on her way towards death.

I stride into class as the bell rings. I can feel their stares on me as I quickly walk to the back of the classroom. Surely no one can bother me here. I take the last empty seat, next t the new latino kid. I slouch in my chair and make sure my hair covers the one earbud playing my music to help me survive this day. I run my hand through my slightly damp hair, so it falls back out of my face.

"Xenia Leon, come to the front of the class, please and introduce yourself," Mr. Goode says. I have had to go throught this exact same routine all day, because I am the new girl, and this is what new girls do. I hear vulgar things and insults whispered as I walk by, and people mutter nasty things under their breath so the professor can't hear them. I reach his desk and abruptly turn around to stare at my classmates.

"My full name is Xenia Lucia Leon, most people call me Leo, I was born in Merida, Mexico, I'm of Japanese and Mexican descent, I moved from L.A and here I am telling you about myself," I finished. I heard snickers and couldn't figure out why. Maybe I said something funny, but I seriously doubt it. I blush red as I think about everything that could have made them laugh, because I know sure as hell didn't hear the kind of laughs that one produced around friends.

"Thank You, Leo, you may return to your seat," Mr. Good commands. I'm thinking he must be the football coach or at least some sort of coach, to be so commaning. I mentally sent my apologies to his wife or girlfriend, if he was married. I tried to walk with confidence to my seat, and I'm not quite sure I succeeded. A group of girls near the front turned to look at me and giggled. I slouched even lower in my seat, sure there was something on my face. They looked like the academic and sporty type. The type to always have a boyfriend and act really friendly when you know they're not. The snakes. The cruel ones. The ones I already knew I hated.

I shook my hair back into my face and peeked around it, studying the classroom, and saw exactly what I had expected to see. Typical jocks, cheerleaders, nerds, rejects, and... and... I squinted my eyes. A group of kids that kind of defied description. They were acting as though they were cool, but were completely ignored by the rest. A few seemed obnoxious. I quickly shoved them into the category of 'losers'. I belonged to no one specific group, as I always did everything alone.

"Alright, silent reading, starting.... NOW," Goode barked. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Reading was practically all I did, figures I'd manage to still do nothing in school, fat and lazy slob that I am. I blinked away the tears, not sure what I was about to cry over, but shrugged  it off. I'm a girl and when we cry, we cry about everything at once, and somehow, nothing at all.

I reached for my bag and pulled Just A Love Story out of my bag. I flipped to a random page and pretended to read. In reality, I was daydreaming. I made sure toturn a page every minute or two so Mr. Good, hawk eyes that he posessed, wouldn't notice.

I sat and wondered what it would be like to be normal. What if I were just like the rest of them, without a care in the world? Nothing to be scared of, with normal families and a normal life. Or as normal as you could get in highschool. I could tell I wasn't the only one suffering. I could see the way some of the kids in this school hid themselves and tried to disappear. The way they wore bracelets practically up to their elbows, and long sleeves on warm days. Kids like the one to my right. I could see the ghosts and emptiness in his eyes. The way they didn't seem to sparkle or light up. The way he was frowning now. When he had looked at me, his eyes had looked to be the color of forests full of secrets. He really was quite attractive. His nose was a bit long, his hair too, his cheeks a bit too hollow, and even though he was sitting down, I could tell he was wicked tall. His mouth was one of dreams, though. They looked as though they could turn from wickedly sensual to coldly cruel in an instant. He probably had a killer smile. I wonder what group I would put him in. Maybe he was a loner, like me.

He suddenly raised his head, catching my stare. I slid my eyes away from him to the clock behind him as the bell rang. Saved by the bell. I bolted from my seat, hiking my bag up higher onto my shoulder. I ran to my classroom door, only to find that it was locked and the lights were off inside. I stared at my relfection in the dark window and came to a decision. I made myself scarce as I walked to the bathroom with my head down. I bypassed the row of mirrors and locked myself in the stall at the end. The stall that would soon be my refuge, and friend. I took the razor from around my neck and slid it across my wrists, over and over again, craving the rush, the relief.