Ninety-five measly Calories Is what the average person would think if they ate an apple, or they wouldn't think at all, they would just bite into it listening to the crisp crunch, to be releaved with satisfaction.
Were as I can not do the same as everyone else.
Those calories are everything to me, those calories are more important than my entire existence, skinny would mean I'd be attractive, being attractive means that people like you, and people liking you means that you're important - and worth something.
Were as Im fat, I am disgusting, I am different to the others and, I despise it.
Pushed around in the halls as a stampede of people rush to class, or maybe I'm just not noticed, maybe they don't notice when I fall.
Of course they don't.
They never would.
They never will.
And even if they could.
They wouldn't.
Because they don't give a shit.
They don't give a shit, because I mean nothing to them, a loner that nobody speaks to.
I haven't heard a word directed at me for years.
I prefer it that way, or maybe that's just what I'm used to.
Silence is the way I live.
Calories is how I'm alive.
And losing weight is why I'm alive.
Because I've always been alone, yet surrounded by others.
Like a bee that wandered into a wasp nest.
Attacked, stolen from, and ridiculed.
I used to be happy, I had friends, I had a social life, I had a family.
Yet none of that matters now because I don't have that.
I have nothing except control, and I will hold onto my control, I crave control, I crave the numbers - that I control.
I crave, only the control.
So I eat half the apple, making it forty-five calories. Control.
I won't stop, until I'm only bones.
YOU ARE READING
Only Bones
أدب المراهقينXavier Smith has an obsession with weight, he wants to be skinny he wants to be perfect, he blames his unpopularity on his weight, skipping lunch at school and working his ass off in P.E-and at home, he thinks he'll be happy when he's only bones. A...
