Hey guys and gals.
I'm a little bit scared of doing this, but this is a piece that I had to write for English last year, when I was in eighth grade, and I realize its not very good, but it really summed up how I was feeling two years ago, a few months before I had reached my sickest. I wrote this story because, honestly, its the only thing I've been able to write about since I've developted my eating disorder...which is such a shame, considering how much I used to love writing.
In this story, its really about the night before I was hospitilized (in-patient) at Walden, I was 13. I've changed family members names and stuff, because it felt weird writing the excact story. ha. But anyways, here it is. Hope its not too awful! :)
oh, just incase anyones wondering- I have ed-nos, with restricting and binging tendencies.
love you all -grace
<lj-cut>I stood in the dressing room at Target, a dozen pairs of beige pants strewn about the floor. I pulled my tired legs through another pair. Size 10, from the little girls department. I could pull the slack material away from my thigh it was so loose.
My reflection was pitiful; all pale and goosebumps, hair thin and lank. I just wanted to go home.
I needed the stupid pair of beige pants for a chorus concert. I was always loosing clothes for some reason, and always in the need for chorus attire, so mum decided to go to Target and pick some up. We all had piled in the van, I had been mostly quiet and complaining about the heat.
My mother knocks on the dressing rooms door, I open it, revealing to the world hideously ill fitted pants and a tired face.
" I don't think they fit."
"They look cute. Honestly. Now lets go get you're brothers some new pajamas and leave. Charlie's had those old Spider man ones for ages...," My mother said, closing the door, waiting for me to change.
I won't bother fighting with her about them. New pants and me in tow, she pulled on my wrist and leaded me to the boys pajamas. She was in deep debate whether the wool ones would be too warm or if the Blues Clues ones were too childish for a fourth grader. I told her she was being fussy.
Half hour later, we left the store with Disney style pajamas for Charlie, 8, and Michael, 10, my ugly purchase and a smiling mother. We all loaded into the car. I sat in the back, right window seat. I always sat there. Each of us had designated seats. Charlie sat in the middle and Michael in the front with mom. I think it makes him feel grown up.
As I sat, I watched my thighs spread and settle. I grimaced. No one else's legs did that. I picked at the hole in my jeans, studying the pale skin peaking through. I felt discontent and funny; like I was going to cry and my stomach was in knots. Michael kept on looking back at me and asking why I looked so sad. I wisely didn't answer.
Mom was good in situations like this. Like that one time Charlie slipped on a rock down at the lake and split open his four head. She kept saying these really comforting things, like that it wasn't even bleeding, how brave you were for not crying, all the while her fingers frantically dialing 911 on her cell phone.
"Sweetie, you're not crying are you?"
I shook my head, tears pressing against my eye lids.
"See, Michael, Bella's fine, aren't you dear?"
Again, I nodded, throat constricted and thick. I don't even know why I'm upset. My eyes open, staring at the big, full bags of groceries. I hope she bought my yogurts.
Jiffy-pop. It was in one of the bags, staring up at me, taunting me. It knew I wasn't going to eat it. That I couldn't. My stomacher was in even more knots and it was hard to swallow. I kept shaking my head, I wouldn't eat it. I used to love when mom would make it, dad would serve it in little paper cups for all of us and powder it with cheese, salt, and pepper; just how I liked it. When was the last time I had some?
I couldn't remember.
I barely felt the car stop. I wound plastic grocery bags in my hands and carried them out and into the house. Dad opened the door and took them from me. My shoulders were shaking. It was so cold outside, colder than I already was. Snow was packed and spread like thick winter blankets over our yard.
Cold for March, I thought. I kicked off my shoes at the door.
Michael, Charlie and Mom followed in after me, all looking curious and concerned, I sat at the table in our much too bright and blue kitchen, tiles familiar and cool under my now bare feet. The grocery bags were set on the counter. I felt heavy and queer, twisting at the fat on my stomach. Eyes prickling with an unwanted emotion. I was quaking in my coat.
Suddenly, my mouth flew opened everything was pouring out. Everything I've been feeling for several months.
"The jiffypop...I used to always eat it and now I can't and I don't know why but I know I can't," My speech punctuated by a sob, " It started because I couldn't eat it because I wanted to get....I can't eat it and I don't know why and..." I vaguely noticed being guided into the living room, pushed into a chair and a tea cup pressed against my quivering lips. I swallow thickly.
My father called our pediatrician. I can barely hear him though, I don't want to him him.
"She's having some kind of episode, it's the only word it can describe this...never has she ever.......,"
Charlie looked at me with his wide blue eyes, confused why his older sister was doing this. I couldn't stop though. Would not stop. Tried to stop. Would not work. My mind is so confused and tired.
As my mother pushed me onto the couch, pulled off my sweater, a slow and dull realization found me. Something that didn't quite hit me till now, till today, until this moment.
I coud die. I'm so sick right now. My friends have deserted me, because I pushed them away. I'm failing every single class. I'm barely even in school. I scare people away. Boys dont notice me anymore. Hardly anyone notices me anymore. I don't even exist anymore. Its as if I've dissapeared...but thats what I want, isn't it?
I cry for hours<lj-cut>
hopefully the story is under this cut!