Skinny Love

Who's we

It's a good thing I bought that second rock. When I get on the the scale at the clinic the scale read 58.513 kg and if I do my math right I think that equals about 129 pounds. That's right I studied this. Minus the two 20 pound rocks, I'm at about 89 pounds. I just need to lose- wait a minute I hit my goal weight! I smile down at the scale. "You're gaining weight since you were here last. Good job Brendon," the nurse tells me. "Thanks," I grin at her.

We walk to Dr. Pawlovich's office. "You seem very happy about your progress. How's the eating working out for you?" The nurse asks me. "Great. I really missed the taste of food when I was starving myself," I really hope she's falling for this. "Alright can you take your arm out of your sleeve so I can take your blood pressure?" Fuck! I forgot about that. I reluctantly take my arm out of my sleeve. "Oh, Brendon," the nurse says with concern in her voice. "I know I'm fat," I say shamefully, "you don't need to point it out." "If you think this is fat you are wrong? Do you have something on that's adding extra weight to you?" She asks. "No," I lie. "I don't believe you," she says as she puts the adult blood pressure cuff back and grabs the child one.

She takes my blood pressure. "69 over 40. I'm surprised you're not in the hospital yet," She then checks my pulse. "Your pulse is 35." I put my arm back in my sleeve. I look down. I'm trying not to smile but I can't help it. "That's really bad. How much do you actually weigh? Because when you smiled I'm guessing it was because of how low your weight is. So?" She asks. Why would I tell her.

I sit in the room silently, not saying a word. "Fine don't tell me. I'm sure Dr. Pawlovich won't be very pleased to hear this news." Who cares what he thinks. They're doctors. They only care about the numbers. They don't care about what you actually look like. And they don't care about how you feel. As long as you're bmi is a "healthy" weight that's all that matters.

Dr. Pawlovich comes in the room with a disappointed look on his face. He sighs, "Brendon I wish I could say great to see you but in this situation it's really not. I'm gonna need you to take off your sweatshirt and shoes so you can get weighed again," he orders me. "No," I look at him like he's crazy. Why would I ever do that? "Brendon we need to know your actual weight because it's not 133." I don't give a shit. No, no, no. "Why so you can send me to the hospital? I'm not re weighing myself. You know my weight. It's 133 and that's final," I tell him.

"Why are you doing this? It's not healthy. Brendon listen to me. You're not choosing between fat and skinny. You're choosing between life and death." I roll my eyes. "Did you hear me?" He repeats. "Maybe I'd rather want to die skinny than live fat. You people never think of that do you?" I say back to him. "We're not asking you to become fat. We're asking you to become healthy." There's that word they always use. "Healthy". "Well if healthy means gaining weight then I don't want to do that. I mean I'm already 133 pounds. Isn't that good enough?" I ask with an attitude. "Brendon be serious with me here-" "why do you keep saying my name," I cut him off, "I mean we both know who you're talking to. There's no one else in the room."

Dr. Pawlovich takes a deep breath. Maybe trying to calm himself. He probably can't stand me. No one can stand me and I don't care. No one understands why I'm doing this. If they understood maybe they wouldn't try to stop me. "You're probably very depressed right now. Am I right?" I sit there quietly, not answering him. "I'm going to take that as a yes. And do you know why," he doesn't wait for an answer, "because your brain's not getting enough nutrition. And with out nutrition it doesn't function properly. It's making you feel depressed and moody. And that mixed with your body dismorphia, pardon my language, is a hell of a combination to fight against. Your illness is winning. We don't want it to win." Who's we? "You need to start eating. Make your brain and body stronger so you can fight. Because we don't want to lose you." Again, Who's we?

"All you need to do is take the fist step," Dr. Pawlovich says, "and the first step is getting re weighed. So can you do it? Can you take the first step?" "No," I answer flatly. The meeting goes on like this for 40 more minutes. By the end of it I just want to shoot myself. I leave Dr. Who cares anymore's office. I go back out into the lobby where my mom is waiting for me.

"So how'd it go," she asks. "Good. I gained weight," I'm such a terrible liar. "Really," she sounds shocked, "yeah I mean getting to eat with you really motivates me to try harder with this whole recovery thing," I say. "Well I'm proud of you." Is she seriously falling for this. "Thanks," I smile. "Alright I will schedule another appointment for you. You can wait out in the car for me," she says. "Okay." I walk out of the clinic and skip over to the car. My appointment might not have gone as planned but I reached my goal weight. That I am happy about.

My mom gets to the car and tells me that I have another appointment in three days. Of course he wants me back that soon. "Did Dr. Pawlovich tell you why he wanted you back so soon?" She asks. Um... Come on Brendon think of something. "He wanted me to start this new meal plan and wants to know if it's working for me or if he needs to change it," good one Brendon. Fuck. Why do I keep saying my name. Stupid Dr. What's his face has got me repeating my name to myself.

On the ride back home I get a message from Dallon.
Dal: Hey I'm having a Halloween party at my house this weekend. Do you wanna come?
I smile. He just asked you to go to his party not on a date. Still though no one has every asked me to a party. Especially a really hot guy. "What are you all smiles about?" My mom asks attempting to look at my phone while she's driving. "Mom! Pay attention to the road!" I screech. "Was that Tyler?" She asks trying to be nosy. "No it was Dallon," I tell her. "Oh," she says disappointedly. I think she wishes I was with Tyler. I mean I'm not saying I'm with Dallon or anything but my mom knows Tyler pretty well and she knows he wants nothing except for me to recover.

But Dallon on the other hand he's crazy. He's in therapy with me so she thinks we bring each other down. It's because she barely knows him. But if she got to know him she'd understand how he makes me feel. "What did he want?" Again she thinks he only wants things from me but what she doesn't know is that I have nothing to give him. He just wants to hang out with me because he truly does like me. Well I hope that's why.

"He wants to know if I can go to his Halloween party this weekend. Can I?" I beg. I'm gonna go whether she lets me or not. "You've been hanging out with this kid a lot," she says. "Yeah... That's cause we're friends," I tell her. "Is there going to be any drugs or alcohol?" She asks. "No! And if other kids bring some I won't have any." Drugs give you the munchies and I'd rather not have to deal with that. She sighs heavily, "I'm just not sure how I feel with you spending time with this kid that I barely know." "I'll invite Tyler to come with me," I say as my last ditch effort to get her to let me go. "Fine. You can go."

I check my phone.
Dal: Sooooo?
I respond back.
Me: My mom said yes. I just have to bring my friend Tyler with. Is that okay?
He texts back immediately saying.
Dal: Yeah totally. The more the merrier.
Me: Or the more the scarier. Ya know because it's a Halloween party.
Dal: Yes! Lol!
Dal: See you in therapy then ig
Me: See ya :)
Eek I'm so excited. Maybe I'll finally go to fourth base with him now that I'm at my goal weight.