Fraction by Fraction

Reverse and Relapse

 You know those few days when you finally think you're getting better and then just as suddenly, you're not.

 This happened to me the second week into my second year at college, but for more reasons than one. 

 This time, relapse wasn't just my disordered brain against me, but an outside force as well. 

 I had been so excited for today. One, because I love to dress in what I want, and getting out is an excuse to do so, and second, because the history lecture was officially starting today. I'd carried my book outside of my bag, thinking of how to use it for dumbbell curls, when I was working out instead of sleeping later that night, as I scurried to my seat up front. I hardly had time to be nervous about those who stared at me as I walked in, focused on getting out my notebook and pencil rather than how disgusting my fellow students probably thought my legs were. 

  Beaming, I tapped the edge of my book, etching the date atop my note page as though it were a journal. In habit, I thoughtlessly added my current weight beside it: 112.8.  when I study or just look back, I like to see where the numbers fluctuated or changed most. This is the most I've weighed in the past year, and while it doesn't seem so much, I'm an embarrassing 4'10 in height and body dysmorphia is no friend of mine. The other day, my brother's co-worker, Teressa, had smiled at me and gushed, 

"You look so good; You've gained weight!" 

Weight and gained in the same sentence felt like a hex cast upon me. I'd about wanted to burst into tears and run away screaming, but instead I leaned back and let her wash my hair before a trim.

 Anyway, I was determined to lose 5 pounds in the first week of this semester, so I'd feel more comfortable next Monday. In the double digits I felt safe, and for my height, technically it was fine. I'd convinced myself of so many things, such as the idea that I don't need to eat every day because I'm so short, but really I just like the feel of liquid fasting, and making it an hour longer than the last time. I was currently on hour 20 of a 35 hour fast, my empty stomach, full of too much coffee. 

I zoned back into reality as  our vivacious teacher began, loading up the projector and we began the delve into Native American History.

Most of the Powerpoint was pictures and most the information he spoke or he refered to from the book, so mid-way through I'd only filled up a section of the page with time auras and funny things he said about time management. 

I'd chuckled under my breath at that. The lay out was: 

                                                                                                         - Good Grades

                                                                                                         - Work

                                                                                                          - Healthy Body

                                                                                                          - Social Activities

You could only choose two.

I was in no way healthy, physically or mentally, and I had next to no friends, besides my brother, if that counts, so my only options were getting good grades and working well.

I circled those on my paper, feeling a twinge of sadness as I crossed out the remaining.

Social Activities almost always involve food, and fuck my body for what it's worth.

Making me smile was the professor, and the way he spoke of an amazing African American slave who wrote beautiful poetry, becoming an ironic symbol for poets in the country that hated her existence. 

I'd love to be great like that. 

Honestly I think we all would like to be known in one way or another, but I want to help somehow.

I want to bring some form of goodness even though I feel like such utter shit.

Reflecting upon myself it was then that my day began to shift, an attack from the world instead of my head. I realised it was too quiet, as though my pencil scratch echoed, and I rose my head when professor griffin paused mid-sentence, as though he had been caught off guard. 

Immediately, I was concerned. 

His mouth was open, his body half turned toward the board, his fingers frozen in the motion in removing the cap from his dry erase marker. I looked around, wondering why no one else had something to say about the odd act.

this was a funny man, but as far as i knew he'd only had a past working in a kitchen, not acting.

Confusion trickled into my system like the plague.

It wasn't just the teacher. 

The boy behind me stared at the power point on the wall, unblinking. His chest didn't heave. His left hand which wielded a pen, did not finish his doodle. Everyone in the room was stuck solidly in their position, as if an invisible ice had encased their forms. I myself, became still, but more from shock, the ruby of my eyes repeatedly going over everyone's face, waiting for the joke to stop.

But it did not.

My voice felt too loud in my throat, even if it was but a hushed noise, "What... the hell is this?" 

No one answered. I turned back around in my seat, stunned. It felt too strange to spy proffessor griffin's face, so i pretended he was a manacan and focused on his scruffed brown leather shoes.

Was i dying and everything was so incredibally slowed down that it looked frozen?

was i still asleep?

was my brain broken?

Was I in the Twilight Zone?

in reality was i fuming on the classroom floor with a seizure or heartattack from stress on my heart and lack of nutrition, and this was my brain trying to help me cope?

I waited for a blinding light.

I waited to wake up.

I waited to come to my senses and feel myself being totted into a hospital vechal, sirens deafening, as it sped me to medical attention.

But I didn't.

Whatever was happening right now was in fact happening.

Pondering this, I felt oddly calm, despite the thump of my heart in my chest, sped from the situation and aid of former caffeine.

"Well, Shit."

I hadn't noticed I was upset until the heat of fresh tears broke their hold in my eyes and spilled down my checks.

My reaction to anything  stressful or even slightly concerning thing is to cry.

I sniffed, hurriedly going to dig through my bag for my cell phone.

I had to contact Knife.

maybe he could wake me up.

maybe he was frozen too.

It took me taking everything out of my bag to realise I'd left my phone at home.

Mentally, I smacked myself, visualising it sitting on my disheveled bed.