To Let Go

i found [1]

I moved farther than I thought I could.

Running through the path by school and home and through the woods(a 4 mile course), hundreds of sit-ups everyday, a few hundred squats and leg raises. Eating less than normal, about half as many calories.

I'd usually have a plain iceberg lettuce salad, no dressing, and an apple. Everyday. For two months now. And if we didn't have any of that, I wouldn't eat. So my mom always made sure to have iceberg lettuce and apples in our house.

The coffee has kicked me into high gear, giving me a boost to burn more. No cream or sugar. Just a plain black 16 oz. And bitter. I love the bitter, for it tastes like guilt. The guilt I burry deep inside and the arguments and outbursts to conceal it.

But now, instead of the salad and an apple, it's just two or three breath mints and coffee. And one bottle of water everyday. Some of the girls I know pop some little candies and powdered sugar to make them slimmer, and if you don't understand, allow me to translate.

Some do party pharmaceuticals, but I don't want any of those health effects. I don't want to put holes in my lungs or destroy my brain cells, when I can have a shrinking body but a growing mind. A mind full of little lies. The diet pills, I never really got into. I never understood why I should pump myself full of chemicals to take place of good old fashion Hunger. But the laxatives are a last resort.

Today, as I sip my 16 oz of coffee, watching the sun fade and the world around me slip into a perfect oblivion, I can't help but notice the tendons in my hand. I wiggle my fingers, watching the long rods slide smoothly in a circular motion under my skin. The canyons in my wrist, and the bridge created a space between the valleys and mountains of my arms. 

"Coffee, eh?" A voice says from behind me. "I never took you for a basic girl. I always pegged you as someone more.... well, or rather less mainstream."

"First of all, I'm not mainstream, and second of all, it's black coffee." I say turning around. Then my eyes land on him.

Yes, him.

Leo Roth, the boy I could never dream to meet. I mean, not to be stereotypical, but.... I'm what they labeled me as 'psychotic nerd' and he's labeled 'perfect storm'. Isn't it ironic how Society tells you the norm is to starve and to have illness, but the second they realize what they've done, they reject their own creation? I find it quite amusing, more or less.

"Ah, I agree. I simply cannot stand those fancy feather and tail lattes." He smiles and cocks his head. "I've seen you around; you're in seventh period AP Latin III with me."

"I know. I'm not blind." I take a another sip slowly.

"So um, you always come here, right?" I nod. "What's good?"

I shrug.

"I don't eat here." Or at all.

"Me too," He looks down and wheels closer to the table. "But between you and me, I don't eat these days. The chemo messes with my stomach." I give a half hearted laugh.

"Since when is Leo Roth anything less than the 'cancer survivor who's a total inspiration'?"

"Oh God, don't remind me. I'm not a sob story, I'm a human. I just, I don't know. I don't want to be Know for my illness, just as a person."

"Why are you wasting you're time with me?"

"I say it's time well spent."

I am intrigued by you, Leo Roth