Never Again

Prologue

What makes a monster isn't necessarily their appearance,

But merely what they do to you.

A blade of silver cuts through the darkness of the night. The small fragments of moonlight reflect onto it and pierce the ground with a faint glowing light. It's so clean you can hear the shine ringing as it gently glides through the air. Closer and closer to something warm. It finds it... and then...slides.

I'm not really sure how it started, maybe just a chain of events, but whatever started it all made it come fast. A darkness had entered my life that I couldn't quite shake. It was as if someone entered my body and took control of everything that I did. Everything was different and I wasn't myself anymore.

I considered this takeover of myself to be a kind of person. Not a human, but a dark being that lived off of fear and the shadows. When I was about 10 years old I named this being Everna. Maybe I thought that treating her almost as if she were a person would make her go away; she didn't.

Everna had replaced the shoulder angel and devil. She became the only little voice inside my head constantly telling me things to bring me down. It was this constant nagging that brought my endless tears at night and blood to my arms and legs.

. . . . .

At the beginning stages of my depression, there was one moment in my young life that gave Everna most, if not all, her power over me.

Back in third grade, in my slightly chubby days, I had this friend named Marcie. She was a very fancy, joyful, little girl with curly bright blonde hair and super rich parents. She was also one of the most popular girls I knew and I considered myself to be very lucky to have her as a friend. One night I invited Marcie over for dinner in hopes that she would think that I was really cool and sophisticated.

We were having steak with mashed potatoes, green beans, rolls, and a pina colada fruit salad; so sophisticated. It happened to be one of my favorite meals and I thought that Marcie would love it too!

I was totally taken aback when she only took super tiny portions of everything. How could anyone possibly do that? This meal was glorious!

I was even more shocked when Marcie glared at me in disgust when I had seconds and thirds of just about everything. She sat in silence for the remainder of dinner, but I could've sworn I heard her mutter "pig" and "fat" underneath her breath.

Later we were playing in my room when Marcie suddenly shrieked out in horror for no apparent reason.

"What is it?" I asked while looking around for a spider.

"Look!" she cried with her finger pointing at my stomach.

I looked down to see my stomach bulging out from my shirt. This was normal to me though, it was just how I looked. What was wrong with it?

"So," I said, confused.

"Elsie that's disgusting," Marcie replied. "You are so fat!"

"No I'm not!" I said, taken aback.

"Uh, yeah you are. Just look at your stomach, that's not what's supposed to happen. My mom says that's what happens when you eat too much."

"I don't eat too much! I'm normal!"

"That's not normal Elsie. You need to get off your butt and lose weight because right now you look disgusting."

I looked down at my stomach in shame of what I saw. Suddenly every roll, crevice and bump stuck out like a sore thumb. I glanced over at my mirror on the other side of my room and saw how plump my face and arms were. An overwhelming feeling lurched in my gut and I felt like I might throw up. My usual thoughts of happiness were clouded with hate and pain.

Marcie left my room looking rather satisfied with herself, and went to tell my mom that she wasn't feeling very well and wanted to go home.

When my mom got back, I had thrown up.

As time went on Everna stayed and I tried to lose weight. For a while I was getting pretty far and felt somewhat satisfied with my progress. But then, as I tend to do with everything, I got lazy again and some of the weight came back.

Ever since that night with Marcie I noticed the looks people gave me while I was doing things. I could even see the disgust in my parent's eyes as I ate my dinner. The pain and embarrassment was unbearable, but there was nothing I could do. Whenever I tried to cheer myself up I would only fall back down the hole.

The Song of my Life: (written by eight year old me; to the tune of 'This Old Man')

I love food, food loves me. I have such a fat tummy. I must exercise and I try and try and try, otherwise someday I'll die.