Cranberry Juice

Swimming pools

Life would be easier, way easier if my mom did not constantly remind me that I had to keep my weight, 'attractive'. I won't play dumb, I know what she means by attractive.

I know you do too or maybe by the time your reading this the norm for western beauty has changed. Either way, the idea of beauty is the most toxic yet dignifying ideology that has ever laid its feet onto the earth and made it's home into the feeble and impressionable creature otherwise known as the human being.

My mother has shaped this philosophy deep into my bones, so deep that I can't take it out without ruining me.

"You'll never get a boyfriend if you can barely fit into your jeans, Nina."

"Isn't that too much to be eating on your plate?"

"You never listen, my words alone are not enough for you to stop acting like a pig."

These are the ones I didn't tone out because I knew they were true.

No matter how much I tried to ignore her, over time her words still made a home in my brain. The words she said were tattooed inside my heart, so it wasn't too hard to fall into the dangerous and confusing world of eating disorders. I still eat, but the food doesn't stay too long in my stomach.

The first time I purged was when I was twelve. After every meal or snack, I would head to the bathroom and empty my stomach into the toilet. Two fingers down my throat were the only technique I knew. A few years later, at fifteen, I found about pills that made the process easier. I'm now seventeen and nothing has changed.

I felt bad each time I purged, but the feeling went away quickly and was replaced with a sense of fulfillment.

Ironic I know.

I still get to eat and I get to lose weight.

It was a win-win if I ever heard of one.

I'm pretty sure my mom knew about my disorder, but she didn't say anything.

I didn't expect her to though.

I really didn't.

Then again, I really really did.

My throat was always sore, I was always tired and pale, but it was a small sacrifice.

Just a small one.

-

Today is Thursday, 7 am, October 10th.

The little red clock, that mom my bought from a flea market a few years ago, sounds extremely loud due to the bone-chilling silence in the kitchen.

My mom was still asleep, fortunately. I didn't like her being around when I ate. Our relationship wasn't the best. She's my mom and I can't say I hate her, but I don't like her at all. When I turn 18, I'm leaving.

I swear it.

As far away as I can. I'll never look back.

I'm sitting at the dining table staring at my breakfast.

I had three pre-made pancakes, two pieces of slightly burnt bacon, with a glass of orange juice.