I wish I had a reasonable excuse for why I do what I do, I thought while I shoved my finger into the back of my throat like I did the last two times today. I had become so good at this I didn’t even feel the pain anymore, like the first time. It was three years ago, I was in the seventh grade. Pressured by the stick thin girls around me. I always hated those girls, never pleased with their looks even when they didn’t have a spot of acne. They wouldn’t have lasted a day in my 175 pound body. It took me hours in the morning just to put together an outfit , but even then there was no escaping the looks and mean side comments of the other girls, or even the occasional boy. If I could go back and change the first day when I made a batch of cookies, ate them all myself then forced my body to purge, I wouldn’t. The thought made tears blur my vision. I still wasn’t happy with my body but at least I lost 75 pounds of the old fat. But did that satisfy me, no I needed to lose more, the fat around my face, my thighs, and don’t get me started on the arms.
“ Britt you okay in there?” my best friend Sasha pounded on the door even though we were in the fanciest restaurant in town. That’s why I loved her, she was never quiet and always stood out in a crowd. Maybe she wasn’t the prettiest or the nicest person in the world but she had this way with people that could make you agree with anything she said. Also she had the most confidence I ever saw in a person, she could start singing in the restaurant and everyone would look at her but she acted like it was a perfectly normal thing to do. Why she choose me to be her friend than the stuck up snobs we went to school with, I have no clue.
” Fine I will be right out. I think the shrimp made me sick.” That was me replying in my little girl voice. No wonder people called me PB, perfect Britney and because in fifth grade I sat in a peanut butter sandwich and it looked like I pooped my pants. That’s one of the disadvantages to growing up in a small town, everybody knows EVERYTHING about each other.
I wiped my face in the mirror and took out my toothbrush that I took everywhere for times like these when I go out to eat and am presented with a buffet table a mile long. I took a long look in the mirror and fixed my shiny blond hair.
I looked anything but perfect.
I opened the door to the main dining room and plastered that fake smile onto my face that I have done all to often.
YOU ARE READING
Not Perfect
Teen FictionBritt is a teenage girl who is fighting with bulimia. After her dad walked out on her and her mom, and her older brother moved out two years ago with out notice, she began to feel she couldnt control her own l...
