emotions, but make it artsy

#4

T/W: eating disorders, child abuse, divorce

too young to step on a scale

i remember when my biological mother, karen, and aunt, chloe, would make my older cousin, mia, and i weigh ourselves. they'd compare our height and weight, like some kind of silly, sisterly competition.

looking back, it was more of a sick joke.

i remember stepping on my grandmothers scale, the numbers fluctuating, holding my breath. i wish the scale didn't answer. i wish the scale screamed out that i was too young to worry about my size. that eight year olds are still growing, and changing. that it didn't matter if the tags on my glittery team jacob shirts had an 's' or 'm' on the back. that i should be riding my bike with the neighborhood kids for fun, not exercise.

luckily, i've always been taller than mia, at first by just an inch, then two, and three, and so on. i've also, at least when we were younger, weighed less. only by a pound or two (what i'm saying is that the difference was hardly noticeable), but it was enough for karen to finally win.

the shame i'd feel if i were to weigh more than mia, as if it mattered (which i now know that it doesn't).

but it did then.

you see,

chloe had a functional family, a nice house in a wealthy neighborhood, healthy marriage, and money in her bank account.

karen, on the other hand, had divorce papers to sign and two kids who didn't quite understand.

so you see now why she needed the win.

and you see now why i am desperately trying to suppress the memory of running downstairs to karen and chloe with the news that i was a single pound less than mia. i want to suppress the memory of the smile on my face, or the pride i felt simply because i had done something to make karen proud. i want to suppress the blame i wish to put on karen for the eating disorder i would face just a few years later.

because she needed the win.