It took me too long to write that first part. I just wanted to get it out of the way, present it as some form of introduction.
I am scared. There is no other way of putting it. It's coming up to 2am and I am afraid. I have to go to school tomorrow, I have to face those corridors full of people, and all the decisions that accompany a new day. My breath still tastes of the coffee I drank three hours ago, simply because I could drink it. I hate coffee.
The thought of school does not make me feel sick to my stomach, nor does it make me shudder with apprehension. What does make me nervous though, is the thought of the people I will have to encounter, and all the possible consequences of said encounters. The skinny little girls that are younger yet taller and slimmer than me and my 5 feet of 15-year old pudge, my skinny little friends that complain about how their spines stick out and point out their hipbones at every available opportunity, the teachers who know my secrets and those who are watching me, suspicious.
I am afraid to find out in the morning if my incessant binging of the day before has resulted in the gain of another pound or two, or if the little pills that make my stomach churn and spasm have kicked in. I do not want to scrutinise my body to see if my bubbling layer of healthiness and curves has receded a little, nor do I want to agonise over the fact that you can still barely see the angular lines of my hipbones or the bars of the cage that encloses my heart and lungs. I do not want to hate myself. I do not enjoy this. I do not even think that this can be real, that I, a perfectly healthy (fat) teenager can be so caught up with food. If I had a problem, I'd be skinny by now, wouldn't I? The rational side of my brain tells me that I'm wrong, but I don't know who to listen to anymore. Myself, or myself? The only real things are the lines on my skin and I don't even know why they are there anymore, or even when this violent affair with my mind began. This is not where I want to be.
YOU ARE READING
learning to feel
Non-FictionThis is not a happy story, or in fact is it a story at all. This is my diary, an amalgamation of my thoughts, of my dreams and my demons, of my delusions and disorders, of my struggles and successes. This is what happens when I try to confront what...
