Fat, Fat, Fat.

A/N  I cried writing this, but I cry at everything, so just a warning, to those as pathetic as I am. :)

I stood in front of my mirror. It was shoulder width and went all the way up to my roof. Reflected in it, was my bed with its layered white and pale blue sheets, beside that was my dresser, plain, boring. My room was quite small and the only other things in it was my bag, dumped messily in a corner, and a small bookcase on the other side of my bed. And lastly, me.

I looked at myself standing there with nothing but a bra and some short knickers. I saw fat. Great big rolls of it cascading out over the elastic of my knickers, I picked up the fat letting it wobble back into place. I looked at the image with disgust. I wanted none of this, A big tear rolled down my glutinous cheeks.

I remembered where it all started. It was a remark from some older girl in the corridor one day. I was walking along to English, my bag was swinging heavily against my thigh and my books were nearly tumbling out of my arms. A group of four girls passed me, one of them at the back yelled in a high pitched voice.

"Man you're fat! I thought you were two people!" A few girls behind me snickered and my cheeks reddened. I kept walking trying to pretend I hadn't heard. I managed to get to English but it took all my self control not to burst into tears.

I soon forgot about the encounter, but not for long. It had been less than a week and I was getting changed for P.E. when everybody stared at me when I pulled my top off. It lasted only for a few silent seconds and then they all averted their eyes awkwardly to the floor or rummaged intensely around in their bag.

I got the message.

It hurt, and for the first time in months I came home from school and cried, I crashed down on my bed, tears poured by the buckets out of my eyes.

I stared at my magazine I had gotten the day before, the model on the cover was so perfectly skinny, she looked stunning, hair pulled back into a perfect bun and eyes framed with a rusty brown. The belt around her waist was tight making her breasts seem twice as large and somehow her legs twice as long. An ache in my heart burned with desire and want. Why aren't we all that skinny? I asked desperately, I cried for the most of that night. Mum came in a few times to try and comfort me but she didn't understand, she would never understand.

In the early hours of the morning I decided that I might try make-up. I never wore make-up, but everyone did, so I managed to persuade myself that it was just that I wasn't wearing eyeliner or mascara. Until the sun came up, I practiced putting on, just the right amount, making sure it was only just detectable.

I went to school and it was uneventful, I was surprised that I wasn't relieved when I got home. It wasn't until a few days later that I noticed anything different. I walked up to my usual group of friends, they were hunched together in a circle, heads bowed in, so close they were almost touching.

"Hey guys, whats up?" I asked casually. A guilty expression flitted around the group as I came. It was Shayla who first recovered.

"Not much, you?" I could see her forcing a smile on her face. I shrugged, my stomach dropping.

"Want to grab a seat?" I asked, trying to keep this conversation alive without falling into the big crevasse of an awkward silence.

"They'll all be gone soon." Said Aimee, emotionless. I wouldn't accept it. We had been best friends since Intermediate.

"Why don't we go sit up on the grass?" Yvonne asked looking at the others. Shayla, Aimee, Claudia and I agreed and we trudged up onto the hill. I caught a few whispers and a few looks from them but I somehow managed to act like everything was normal, what the hell else could I have done? I suddenly felt weak, a mouse in the claws of the majestic lion of high school.

I got desperate. 

The next day, I didn't pack lunch, or the day after that or the day after that. The day after that I didn't have breakfast, I didn't have breakfast all of that week in fact. Yet my friends kept distancing themselves from me, I didn't want to push, or follow them in case I came across needy and desperate. 

I had seen the cruel cycle of the social status take effect many times, but never had I dreamed it would happen to me. I started to put on more make-up in my desperation to keep my friends...If I could still call them that.

The next week, I ended up sitting on my own, up on the hill. I tried to blend in, be normal, but I couldn't. No matter what I did, I couldn't be cool. I received anonymous notes in my locker, over the internet, by text. They all had the same underlying message, I was fat. Suffocating in my own loneliness, I forced myself to write it down, that always worked in movies.

That night I skipped dinner, I locked myself the bathroom and thought. Thinking made it worse, I felt vulnerable, so vulnerable.

The next day, I passed out, on my way home from school, it was a short walk but I woke up in a bush, on the side of the road, halfway up my street. Trying to ignore the unhealthy gurgling coming from my tummy, I stomped through the house into my room, hiding from myself underneath my pale blue sheets.

In the morning I refused to go to school, claiming I had a sore throat. Mum stayed with me in bed the whole day, holding my hand. She called the doctor and he came to look at me. The next thing I know is that I wake up in a hospital bed. Mum is still here, holding my limp, pale hand.

She has obviously been crying. Her eyes are puffy and swollen red and in her other hand she clutches at a crumpled white handkerchief. She whispers that it is going to be okay. But I know it won't be. 

I drift in and out of consciousness until it came to the stage where I no longer opened my eyes, just listened to the sound of mum's sobs.

Then one day I hear her scream for a doctor, a nurse, for help, I hear a long resounding beep. First, I panic, but then let go, knowing that I am gone.