I'm disgusted at myself. I keep eating and eating and I keep telling myself I need to stop. Clear my head for a few days. But my stomach refuses. I tried not to eat today. But I did anyway. A whole waffle. And a croissant. I feel like I'm going to be sick. I feel fat and chunky when I walk. I shouldn't be eating. My stomach still spills over my jeans and my arms are too wide. My legs are skinnier, which I guess is a plus side but it doesn't make much of a difference. In the end, my body looks disproportionate. I'm too chunky on the top.
I wish I could stop. I wish I could just heave everything out and I would look okay. But the wishes don't come true.
Which makes me wish there wasn't something wrong with me.
At the dinner table, I smile. I tell my mum half way that I'm not hungry anymore. That I'm full. As soon as she gets up from the table, I shovel the rest of the food onto my brothers' plate. Doesn't really matter which one. They're both food vacuums anyway. I don't think my mum has noticed yet. My weird eating habits. I'm like a bulimic without the puking. I binge, then don't eat for several days and then binge again. At least, I try not to eat. It doesn't always work. Sometimes my mum forces me to. She says she payed good money for it and she's not throwing it away. But as long as I keep faking smiles, she'll never know what I'm doing to myself. Because if she did, it would absolutely destroy her.
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YOU ARE READING
Faking Smiles
Short StoryI'm depressed. I'm unhappy. I want to die. The only thing stopping me from ending it all is pretending I'm okay until even I think it's true. But you wouldn't know that. Because you never bothered to ask. *Trigger Warning*
